


Let's Bring Greed Back!

by Aqualisier, guyfierimpreg



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aqualisier/pseuds/Aqualisier, https://archiveofourown.org/users/guyfierimpreg/pseuds/guyfierimpreg
Summary: “But, Young Lord,” Lan Fan said, “in the case of a homunculus, it wouldn’t exactly behumantransmutation, would it?”They continued the rest of the journey back to the palace in silence, but the gears in Ling's mind creaked into motion.





	1. Chapter 1

_The scene that played out was the same as always._

_Right on cue, Greed punched him, and no matter how many times his mind put him through this hell, he could only sit and watch as the same goddamn thing happened over and over, like a broken projector playing the same corrupted sequence again and again and again until it fizzled out and died._

_“What are you—”_

_“It’s time to say goodbye, kid. There’s no point in you getting sucked into my old man with me.”_

_“Hold on a second, Greed! You just told me we’d fight together! Didn’t you?! You can’t just sucker punch me like that! How could you lie? You always said you don’t believe in telling lies! It can’t end this way!”_

_“Aw, you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, you little pissant! That was the one and only lie of my life. Lan Fan has a philosopher’s stone, so you don’t even need me anymore, kid.”_

_“But I do...!”_

_Greed's laughter rattled around his skull, as Father rended his—their—soul in two._

_“Wait! Greed! No, wait, don’t do this!”_

_“Later.”_

_There was nothing he could do but watch, an observer in his own body. Not like the symbiosis of sharing with Greed, though—this was cold, distant, terrifying. He stood, rooted to the ground, as Father's body was consumed by Greed. Father screamed, clawed frantically at his skin which peeled away and rotted at his touch. The flesh of his face melted away into a sickening black puddle, leaving only the toothy grin of Greed's ultimate shield._

_It wasn't right, though. Greed wasn't in it. It was little more than a molt, a ghostly shell shed by a dying cicada, and it crumbled to dust along with what remained of Father. Ling stood, and watched his friend die again. Each time was bloodier than the last._

_"Greed... no..."_

_The dust fell to the earth—no, not the earth. They stood atop a mountain of corpses, and the sickening sight wrenched the air straight from Ling's lungs. At the top lay Fu, Buccaneer, Bradley's soldiers who had bombarded the gate, still fresh and warm. Lower, his half siblings who lost their lives before he could return and put a peaceful end to the succession conflict, flesh decayed and bones exposed. A rotten arm, which he could still feel in his shaking, blood-slicked grasp as he struggled to tie it to the back of a stray dog._

_And now Greed._

_The bodies beneath him melted into a bloody coagulation of souls, absorbing the world around them into their screaming mass. They pooled beneath Ling's feet, stretched for miles until they covered the entire earth and sky, screaming, laughing, coiling around his body bone-tight, until he couldn't breathe._

_Finally, they coalesced before him, and took form. Not the form of a person, though._

_The form of his throne._

_Their screams and laughter continued echoing, thundering through his mind, deafening, until finally the iron vice grip holding his body in place was released and he collapsed, gasping, choking, until finally the lump in his throat wedged free and he retched up a small red stone. It wasn't Greed's stone, though, he realized in a flash of horror._

_But what good would it do? It was too late._

_He lay limp, shell-shocked, as the souls beneath him began creeping up his body once again, dragging him down, down into the abyss, deeper and deeper until the pressure crushed him from all sides._

_And he screamed._

 

* * *

 

 A bloodcurdling scream split the night.

In her haste, it was a small miracle that Lan Fan didn't tear the doors right off their hinges, armed for the worst. Ling sat awake in bed, shaking and hyperventilating, but unharmed. With a sigh of relief, she lowered her kunai. But the atmosphere was strange. She swallowed the uneasy feeling that clawed her insides, and rushed over to Ling's side.

"Young Lord, are you alright?" she asked, and clasped her hand around his. Her touch only slightly quelled the shaking.

Night guard was not a glamorous job. She knew that when she'd taken the post, and at no point did Lan Fan expect it to be anything more than an extension of her normal duties as retainer to Ling. It was a job that typically went to someone with lower seniority, someone with greater emotional distance to the emperor, but Lan Fan had insisted.

The people of Xing needed a strong leader, and a strong leader they got. But Lan Fan knew better than anyone else that there were things that still haunted Ling in the realm of memories, and nighttime was a vulnerable time. Nobody needed to see their king in that state, nobody needed to see the nightmares that would plague him so—it was difficult for even her to witness sometimes.

There wasn't much she could offer him, but she at least had this.

Ling took in a shuddering breath. "It's—I'm fine," he said, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. "It's the same as always. There's nothing I can do."

Neither of them dared to speak what exactly _it_ was. It was a wound that would always be too fresh to leave uncovered, better off left alone to eventually scab and try to heal.

She lowered her eyes, though her face was hidden behind her mask. "...I understand," she murmured, and quietly withdrew her hand.

She did understand. Ling didn't talk much about the Promised Day, and she didn't pry. That's how he always was—he preferred to leave the past in the past. But the past wouldn't leave him alone. He threw himself into his duties as emperor, as much from obligation as desperate need for a distraction, but at night, when his breakneck pace through life came to a halt, it all caught up with him.

And it wasn't easy. Not when every waking moment of silence, every time he glimpsed the back of his left hand, was a _reminder_. Not just of Greed, but of everything else, too, like a stream of dominoes that crushed him beneath their weight.

And Lan Fan never felt so powerless in her life.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked quietly, not daring to meet the Young Lord's gaze. She wouldn't be able to handle seeing the pain in his eyes.

Ling sighed, and lay his forehead in his palm. "Could you get me a glass of water?"

"Of course." She bowed her head lightly, and moved to exit the room. As she entered the doorway, she heard Ling's voice again from the darkness of his bedroom.

"Hey, Lan Fan?"

She turned. "Yes?"

He balled up his fists in the mess of blankets. "...Thank you."

 

* * *

 

 Life went on after the Promised Day, but it wasn't easy.

When Ling first returned to Xing, the first thing he did—even before storming into his father's court, philosopher's stone in hand, to make his bid for the throne—was help Lan Fan arrange Fu's funeral. They held the ceremony in the southern lands of the Yao clan, in the riverside village where Fu had been born. Lan Fan's parents died when she was young; Ling's father barely knew he existed, and his mother considered him more political chesspiece than son. For as long as they could remember, Fu had been the only father figure they'd known. They grieved, bade safe passage to the departed, made what peace they could, and continued walking forward.

No such funeral had been held for Greed.

It was funny. Ling had gotten accustomed to sharing his body with Greed, but hadn't realized how much he'd actually come to _care_ about him, over all those months of being together, laughing together, crying together, growing together, right up until the moment he was watching him die. He hadn't realized that he _could_ lose him, that their fates weren't inextricably bound, right up until the moment they were ripped apart.

He didn't cry, though, as he watched him fade away. Maybe he was in too much shock, maybe it just hadn't sunk in, maybe he'd already run out of tears to cry that day.

(It did sink in, though, when he lay awake that night, alone with his thoughts for the first time in months, the silence more deafening and maddening than the countless thousands of screaming souls had ever been. He'd started shaking, hyperventilating, almost threw up from the excruciating pain that wracked his body, but the tears never came. His eyes and throat were bone dry, hollow as his chest.)

It didn't matter whether or not he found peace, though. The world kept moving. Eventually, his feelings were lost within the non-stop whirlwind of everything happening, and by the time things slowed down enough to have time to think, time to breathe, he had grown so used to holding all his feelings inside that he didn't _want_ to grieve. Eventually, he forgot how.

Forgetting wasn't the same as healing, though.

He was emperor now. Holding himself together was about more than just his own personal feelings. The entirety of Xing relied on him to hold his head high, smile, and spend his days arguing in court with clan leaders and diplomats in order to push for change that would make their lives better. That was fine—smiling was a skill he'd honed his entire life, and he knew how to keep it together in spite of a little background noise. Well, maybe more than a little, but that was beside the point.

The only one who knew how deep these scars pierced through his being was Lan Fan. If anyone else had figured it out, they didn't say anything. When Mei first joined his court as imperial alkahestrist and representative of the Chang clan, a gesture that spoke volumes of the lengths Ling had gone to quell clan rivalry, she had asked him, "Is everything okay? You look exhausted."

He put up his usual smile. "I guess I am a bit tired. Comes with the job, though. I'll be alright."

'I'll be alright' had become something of a mantra, whenever his facade cracked, right along with 'Time heals all wounds.' He would be alright. He would heal, even if it took a while. Eventually, he would move on. Eventually, he would stop hurting.

It wasn't true, though—time _didn't_ heal all wounds. Some of them, if never healed properly, started to fester, and slowly killed you from the inside out.

 

* * *

 

 The little cafe in the main palace district was brightly lit, cozy, decorated inside and out with tiny mandarin trees, and probably not the first place a casual passerby would expect to see the emperor of all Xing, sans regalia, sitting crosslegged at a booth and shoveling dumplings into his mouth like a goblin. Across from him sat a handsome young man from Amestris, whose golden hair and eyes were striking enough that he alone would have drawn the attention of the entire diner. People pointed, gawked, whispered to each other in low voices well out of a normal person's hearing range. Ling was not a normal person, and he was plenty used to this treatment.

Alphonse was used to it, too. His research—and personal life, now that he and Mei were officially dating—meant that these days he spent more time in Xing than Amestris. That didn't mean his and Ling's free time often intersected, though. He did keep in touch with both Elric brothers, but for the most part they had gone their separate ways after the Promised Day. Ed and Al walked the paths of scholars, Ling the path of an emperor. That was fine—their lives took them in different directions. It was a normal thing that happened to friends as they grew older, connected by the soul or not.

That didn't mean Ling wasn't sad about it, though.

"So," he said, clasping his hands on the table before him and giving Al his trademark, well-rehearsed smile that was _almost_ genuine, "what brings you to the palace? Wait, don't tell me—it's a personal visit, isn't it? Is that what's been occupying Mei's attention these past few days?"

When Ling had received Al's request to meet with him for lunch that afternoon, his whole world lit up. Sure, Al probably had more in mind than just shooting the breeze and catching up with an old friend, but it had been so long since Ling had gotten a chance to smile and laugh with his friends without being shadowed by courtiers demanding his attention, his mounting responsibilities as emperor, and demons of the past.

Al laughed, cheeks flushed pale pink. "Well... I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous grin. "But actually, the two of us have been making a lot of progress in our work—you know, about unifying alkahestry with Amestrian alchemy? It's just... well, we've hit a dead end, as far as publicly available resources go. Mei suggested the two of us spend some time perusing the palace library, if that's alright with you."

Ling tilted his head. "Why would that be a question? Of course it's okay. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Oh, no, of course! That was never in question!" Al held his hands out defensively. "But that doesn't mean you, being the emperor, can give free rein to civilians—especially foreigners—with no repercussions."

 _There it is._ Ling's facade cracked slightly. He exhaled, took a long drink of his tea, put the pieces back in place, and smiled. "You should know by now that never was, and never will be, an issue," he said. "Status be damned, I'd _never_ turn down a request from a friend."

Al went silent for a moment, and peered at him from across the table. He knew Al well enough to know that he meant well, but the concern in his eyes left him feeling uneasy. A moment passed, and Al swallowed whatever words were on his tongue, broke eye contact, and stirred his tea. "You haven't changed at all, Ling," he said, a slight smile creeping across his lips.

Ling wondered how true that was.

"That reminds me," Ling said, setting down his own teacup. "How has Ed been? He never comes to visit anymore!"

Al laughed. "Yeah, he's doing fine, but he makes a point of avoiding Xing. His exact words were, and I quote, 'everywhere else I travel, I'm given a hero's welcome for saving Amestris. In Xing I get called the man who fed the emperor a shoe. Like hell I'm giving Ling the satisfaction of showing my face there again.' Which I think is his way of saying hi."

Ling smiled. "Sounds like he hasn't changed, either," he said. "Well, tell him I'll always be happy to feed him one of mine and call it even if he ever wants to visit."

The conversation continued pleasantly—Ling made sure of it, always careful to nudge the subject away from anything heavy. Asked Alphonse about the details of his research despite not understanding a word of what he said, made a snarky comment about his elder brother that sparked gales of laughter and a wave of shittalking, complained about the ins and out of Xingese politics, and kept the subject squarely off of _himself_. The last thing he wanted to do was kill the mood by worrying his friend.

(Al would understand though, wouldn't he? The feeling of being powerless to save those dear to you. He swallowed that thought.)

Dusk began to tint the sky, and Ling followed Al back to the train station. They chatted happily all the while, right up to the foot of the platform.

"Will you be staying at the palace, then?" he asked. "I'm sure it would make your research more convenient not having to worry about commuting every day. Besides, you'd be able to spend more time with Mei."

"Oh! That would be wonderful, actually," Al said. "I would still need to be off now, and I'd need to head back and grab my bags from the hotel. You're sure it'll be alright?"

Ling huffed. "Alphonse, how many times do I need to say it? Treat me like a friend first, emperor second." He didn't know _where_ exactly Lan Fan was, but he knew she was shadowing him from somewhere, and he could _feel_ her wince at such casual dismissal of his office. Day after day he was hounded by old, crusty noblemen in court about not taking his position seriously enough, and here he was adding more fuel to the fire.

(It wasn't that he wasn't taking the position seriously, it was just...)

Al laughed, and scratched the back of his head with his free hand as he hauled his briefcase onto the platform. "Actually, I meant more along the lines of, um... Mei and I, if us being together would cause any problems."

"Oh!" Ling laughed. "Not at all! She talks about you constantly as it is, I don't think there will be much difference."

Al's face flushed a deep pink, and with a loud whistle the train started chugging away. "I'll be back tonight!" he called, voice barely audible above the train engine. "Thanks again!"

Ling grinned wide and waved until the moment Al faded from view, until he didn't need to spend any more energy keeping his smile in place and let his face drop to its natural, deeply tired expression. He exhaled, long and hard, squeezed the bridge of his nose as he dragged his palm down his face, and started in the direction of the palace. "I suppose now you're going to lecture me on how I should be taking my rank more seriously, Lan Fan?"

She was there in an instant, flowing from the shadows to his side like soft smoke. So easily she slipped into his rhythm, like she had been there the entire time, her small frame fitted neatly to his back. "No." By the echo of her voice, Ling could tell she was wearing her mask. She usually did, in public. "Not today."

He chuckled. "Does that mean you finally trust me to be responsible?"

"I've always trusted you, Young Lord," she said, a little too quickly. Ling cast her a glance out of the corner of his eye and frowned, but kept walking.

It wasn't like he was in disguise, as the two of them weaved their way through the crowded streets of Xing. Maybe people didn't recognize him without his crown and flowing robes, maybe Lan Fan kept her head downturned enough that nobody saw or recognized her mask. Maybe some people did know who they were, but nobody wanted to be the one to point out that they were bumping shoulders with royalty and start a scene. Maybe they had just grown so accustomed to his father's grand palanquin procession whenever he so much as took one step outside the palace that it never occurred to them that the emperor could just... take a walk, like anyone else.

Maybe that was what everyone meant, about not taking his position seriously. Emperor or not, he refused to remove himself from being a _person_ , like any one of his subjects, first and foremost.

After some time following him in silence, Lan Fan spoke again, though her voice was quiet. "Forgive me for being presumptuous, but... you sounded lonely."

Ling stopped in his tracks. He took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and forced a single laugh. "I can't really deny that. Ahh, damn it, do you think Al picked up on it? I'd hate to be the rain cloud over our happy reunion. Well, in any case," he added, a note more chipper, "some time with him and Mei around the palace should clear up that rain cloud in no time. Have you seen those two together? They're _adorable_."

"Have you considered talking to them?" she asked. "About... you know. Perhaps it would do you some good." _Perhaps they'll be able to help you where I can't_ , hung unsaid in the air between them.

He didn't want to. What he _wanted_ was to have a good time with his friends, and slicing old wounds open sounded like the exact opposite of a good time. But he could hear the genuine concern in Lan Fan's voice, concern usually masked by duty and decorum, could picture her eyes clouded with worry as she guarded his bedside night after night. A lump formed in his throat. The last thing he'd wanted had been to drag anyone else, let alone _her_ , into his misery, but she always had been perceptive.

He started walking again. "Maybe I will. It's not even that I don't trust them with this—especially Al. If there was anyone who would get what I'm going through, it would be the Elrics, you know?" _It's just that the thought of receiving sympathy is terrifying, and I don't know why._ "I guess that I'm really starting to understand what they went through, too. Why they performed human transmutation. Not that I'd ever think of doing anything like that, but..."

Lan Fan hurried to his side. Though he kept his tone even, she seemed to detect the turbulence beneath the surface. "But, Young Lord," she said, "in the case of a homunculus, it wouldn't exactly be _human_ transmutation, would it?"

Ling turned to look at her, slightly aghast. "Lan Fan, was... was that supposed to be a joke?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured, eyes downcast. "It was in poor taste. I was just trying to..."

A smile ghosted across his face. "No, no, it's fine. I just... didn't expect it from you."

They continued the rest of the journey back to the palace in silence, but the gears in Ling's mind creaked into motion.

 

* * *

 

 It wouldn't be _human_ transmutation.

At first, it was just a quiet echo in the back of Ling's thoughts as he continued the rest of the day in court, officially greeted Alphonse to life in the palace, chattered with him and Mei over supper, lay awake in bed. He didn't think about it too seriously, but the seed had been planted, and it lurked in the shadows of his mind, twisting and spreading its roots through his consciousness over the next few days.

An emperor’s job was never truly done, no matter how much he would have loved to have just one day where he could let the country be and take a nap, or something. There were always court sessions to attend and requests to hear; a border security report here, another lecture about how unsafe it was to travel around without a full protective detail there. Assassins were always trying to claim the throne, and with no heir his death would throw the entire country into chaos. If that happened, everything he'd done, everything he'd _lost_ would have been for nothing.

_It wouldn't be **human** transmutation._

He sat haphazard on his throne, one elbow on the armrest and fist buried into his cheek. With Lan Fan guarding him day and night, these dull council sessions were about the only time she could get any sleep—nobody would dare attack the emperor in front of his entire court. It was a small mercy that she didn't have to listen to the head of the Han clan drone on and on about how it just wasn't _fair_ to impose such high taxes on wealthy families, how the common folk would become lazy and unmotivated if this continued. Ling let the man continue bumbling himself off a cliff—everybody knew that wealthy clans like the Han stood the most to lose from Ling's egalitarian financial policies. There was no way he could weave that nonsense about being concerned for the good of Xing without looking like a greedy—ugh, Ling couldn't even think the _word_ and not be flooded with pain—bastard in front of the entire court.

The more he tried to keep his mind from wandering, the more he failed. 'It wouldn't be human transmutation'? That was just a technicality, a quirk of language. It didn't matter if Greed was human or not—what mattered was that he was _dead_. He couldn't be brought back, end of story.

But what if... no, what was he _thinking_?

Human transmutation—or whatever he wanted to call it, if the subject wasn't really human—was _the_ taboo of alchemy. The Elrics knew better than anyone, bringing back the dead was against the fundamental laws of nature. What would they even say to him, if they knew he was thinking of repeating their mistakes? Would they understand? With Fu, he'd had a chance to mourn, to bury him and say goodbye, but with Greed—

He felt his soul getting sliced in half all over again.

_It wouldn't be **human** transmutation._

Ling gritted his teeth. It didn't _matter_. It didn't _matter_ how much pain he was in. He knew damn well that all he would actually get for meddling with forces beyond his control would be pain and sorrow unimaginable, for the people he loved as well as himself. It didn't _matter_ how much he wanted Greed back, or how mad he went from the lack of closure. It just wasn't possible.

**_Nothing is impossible._ **

Greed's voice shattered the cloud of his thoughts. _Almost like he was still—_

The world around him went blurry, beads of sweat rolled down his face. _Not here. Not in front of the entire court._ He clenched his fists on the arms of his throne, tried to steady his breathing, but heads were starting to turn.

"Your Majesty, is everything alright?" His advisor's voice was a distant echo.

Ling plastered on an unsteady smile. "Yes, I-I'm alright. I—"

Greed’s words, along with Lan Fan’s, burned in his mind, reverberating off the walls of his head again and again, louder and louder into maddening cacophony, until _he couldn't take it anymore, **and—**_

Ling shot straight up from his throne, and with the sweetest smile any of his courtiers had ever seen, said, "I'm afraid we have to close court early today," turned on his heel, and dashed straight out the window, leaving the entire court in confusion and chaos.

He couldn't pass up the chance.

 

* * *

 

 The afternoon sun reflected through the windows of the palace library at such an angle that the entire room was illuminated by a soft, rosy glow. Light spilled across the golden bookshelves standing almost twenty feet high, brimming with colorful tomes on every subject imaginable. Where the walls weren't covered by books, they were adorned with tapestries and glistening murals. Tucked away in a cozy little corner by one of the windows was a soft red loveseat, framed by flaxen curtains that swayed in the light wind.

How Al was supposed to concentrate on his studies with Mei sitting next to him, Xiao Mei curled up in her lap, sunlight framing her face as she peered over his shoulder to read his tome on old alkahestry, he had no idea.

Their relationship was a new development, a blossoming flower that hadn't quite yet reached maturity. Though a thing of beauty, it still needed careful pruning, which meant that there was a _lot_ of awkwardness, and Al's palms always wound up sweaty. Mei had always been a very physically affectionate person, and Al was nothing if not a gentleman, but there was only so much he could take before he would combust.

Mei snuggled up against his side with a soft hum, her breath tingling against his ear. Al's heart pounded against the walls of his chest. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on anything more complicated than remembering his name like this.

Not that he minded. They weren't in a rush, not with their relationship or their studies.

With his heart lodged in his throat and his face on fire, Al carefully placed the alkahestry tome down on the table in front of them. Mei stared up at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape, cheeks tinged peek, glowing in the afternoon light.

She blinked up at him, with those big, onyx eyes. "Is something the matter, my sweet Alphonse?"

"N-No, it's just..."

He could barely remember how to speak. Even before they'd started going out, he'd known she had feelings for him for a long time. But even as unsubtle as Mei was, even as his own feelings for her grew, it had taken him this long to muster up the courage to ask her out for real. And now, here he was, a grown adult tripping over his feet at the slightest physical contact with his girlfriend.

It reminded him of how Ed acted around Winry, actually. Must be a family trait.

Hesitantly he reached his arm out, hand shaking, and settled it awkwardly around her shoulders. He felt her inhale sharply, and immediately started fretting—was that too bold? Was he overstepping his boundaries? But then she relaxed, blush intensified, and took his other hand in her own. Al was suddenly extremely self-conscious about how badly his palms were sweating, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. Her grip was clumsy, and it was hard to tell, but he could feel her fingers shaking, too.

“Um, Alphonse…” Mei stammered. The blush on her cheeks deepened from pale pink to deep red. “Would you, um… would you please kiss me?”

For a moment, Al let his mouth hang open like an idiot. Mei had always been the more forward of the two, but now that they were actually together, here she was, about to melt with anxiety. It was... comforting, to know he wasn't the only one feeling so nervous. Mei was so painfully honest, always wore her heart on her sleeve, and yet...

Their faces inched closer together. He could feel her breath hot, unsteady against his cheek, could feel their noses bump together at his first attempt to close the distance between them, and finally, lips centimeters apart, he—

"Found you!"

He staggered backwards and fell over. There, sitting on the windowsill behind them, was Ling, who, completely disregarding the scene he was interrupting, ungracefully stepped over the now widened gap between the two and squatted on the armchair across from them, elbows rested on his knees.

“L-Ling!” Al stuttered, mind spinning. “I thought you, um, I thought your court was in session!”

Ling tilted his head. His posture was casual and open as always, but there was something off about the way he regarded them. He didn't smile. “It was,” he said. “I left. Good timing, too—seems like I came just in time to stop you two from defiling my library.”

“W-We weren’t—!” Mei squeaked, and buried her head in her hands. Xiao Mei scurried to hide behind her shoulders.

He waved a hand. "Relax, that's not why I'm here."

The haze in Al's mind cleared up in an instant. He finally figured out the word to describe Ling's demeanor: _grave_. His heart caught in his throat again, but for entirely different reasons. He'd only seen Ling this dead serious a few times in his life, and not _once_ since the Promised Day. It never meant happy tidings.

Mei spoke before Al could find the words. "Ling... what's wrong?" she asked. Her voice trembled slightly.

"Wrong? Oh, nothing's wrong," Ling said. "I'm here to ask for your help with something."

A sense of dread flooded the room. Al finally spoke up. "Um... what is it?"

Ling narrowed his eyes, and held Al's gaze coolly.

"We're bringing Greed back."


	2. Chapter 2

"Wh... What...?”

Ling's words knocked the air out of Al's lungs like a sledgehammer to the chest.

The feeling of the world being shattered was one Al knew well, but he hadn't been expecting it _now_ of all times. Now that he'd finally found some semblance of stability. Even bathed in afternoon sun, Ling's eyes were a deep, pitch black void. He knew full well that the emperor of all Xing wasn't—couldn’t be—all smiles and jokes. But Ling’s gaze burned into Al’s very core, and it made his stomach twist into knots.

Mei clutched the fabric of her dress. "Ling, what are you saying...?"

Ling sighed. "Look, I know it must sound crazy to just drop this on you out of the blue, but—"

"Crazy?! That doesn't even _begin_ to describe it!" She shot up from her seat with such force that Al nearly fell over, and Xiao Mei barely managed to hang onto her shoulder. "How could you even say such a horrible thing, knowing everything that dear, sweet Alphonse and his brother went through?! Why would you even—what even brought this on all of a sudden?! Have you lost your mind?!"

Ling remained calm, collected, and held up a hand to quell her fire. "Well, it occurred to me," he said. "The two of you are working to unify alchemy and alkahestry, right? If anyone could figure out how to reconstruct a homunculus, it would be us three. Don't you agree?"

"Of _course_ I don't agree!" she cried. "Haven't you learned _anything?!_ It can't be done! And the price for even _trying_ is.. is...!"

She clenched her teeth, holding back tears as she trailed off, and Al finally managed to collect his thoughts. "Ling, it's been _years_ , I... how long have you been holding onto this?" he murmured. "I thought you seemed out of sorts when we spoke before, but... I never would have imagined _this_ was what was eating away at you, after all this time. If you're still hurting, just... just talk to us! We're your friends!"

"That's not the point!" Ling stood straight up. "The problem is that Greed never should have died in the first place! He promised me that we would fight together, that we would rule Xing together! I... I should have never let go of him!"

Ling clenched his teeth, fought to steady his breathing, and it clicked. Why the fire in his eyes made Al's insides churn. He _knew_ that look. Determination was an expression Ling wore well, when the mood struck him, but that wasn't what this was. This was a fire Al was all too familiar with—one laced with desperation, and kindled with despair. This was _himself_ he saw reflected, himself and his brother, and just beneath the surface he could feel long healed wounds bubbling for the first time in years.

" _That's_ what this is about?" Mei gestured emphatically. "He died protecting you, you big dummy! Do you even know what you're asking?! Is this what he would want?! For you to just—just throw everything away like this?! You'd be risking everything he died for!"

"I know _exactly_ what I'm asking!" Ling cried. "You think I don't know the risks?! The price? I don't care! If there's even a chance I can make this right, I can't let it slip past me!"

Al forced himself to meet Ling's gaze. He swallowed painfully. "Ling... I know what you're going through," he said. "I know _exactly_ how hard it is to fail to protect someone, and to watch the people you love die. And I know better than anyone that human transmutation is _not_ the answer!"

_"HE'S NOT HUMAN!"_

The world around them froze.

Ling's voice echoed throughout the quiet of the library, and it rang through the air even after his words dissipated. An uneasy silence settled over the three of them, filled only by the soft ticking clock from the main room. The fire in his eyes hadn’t lost any of its intensity, but time had slowed enough that Al was able to pick out the minutiae of his features. The dark circles under his eyes, the crease of his brow, the trembling of his lip as he clenched his teeth... had he really been holding all this in since the Promised Day?

"Look, I'm sorry, I..." Ling slumped over, back in his seat. "I understand that what I'm asking is no small thing—especially of you, Alphonse. I didn't—I didn't mean to dig up any unpleasant memories, and I won't hold it against either of you if you can't go through with this." His voice quivered with desperation. "But... I'm asking you, as a friend. Please. Help me."

Al swallowed painfully. "Ling..."

Ling held his left hand in front of his face, as if reaching for something, "I know how long it's been, and I know that any sane person would have moved on by now," and clenched his fist. "But I can't let it end like this."

Mei sniffled, and Xiao Mei dabbed at the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I understand that you want to see him again, but... but... but you _can't_ bring back the dead! It's impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible," Ling murmured.

It was Al who broke the silence. "What...?"

Ling chuckled sadly. "That's what Greed always said, right?" he said. "I know this is a long shot. But I won't be able to live with myself if I don't at least _try_."

Al chewed on his bottom lip, and looked down at his shoes. What was he supposed to do in this situation? Every one of his instincts screamed at him that this was a bad idea, that it would be a waste of time at best, but... what if Ling was right? What if it _was_ possible? He did have a point; Greed wasn't human. Maybe the rules really were different for homunculi. At the very least, he owed it to Ling—and Greed, too—to at least give it a shot, right?

More than that, he couldn't help but recall Ling's words from earlier that week. "I'd never turn down a request from a friend," right? He sighed. There really was only one possible answer.

"...Alright," he said. Mei stared at him in shock. Then, after a moment's pause, she steeled her expression, and nodded once. Both of them turned to face Ling, and Al continued. "We'll help you."

 

* * *

 

The door to Ling’s room creaked as Lan Fan nudged it open. It was unusual for the light to still be on at such a late hour, even if he was having trouble sleeping as of late. Her stomach churned into knots.

She spoke quietly. "My Lord, is everything alright?"

Ling didn't look up. "Just fine, why wouldn't it be?"

It wasn't just his words, though; he sounded livelier than he had in years. Should she be relieved, or...? "I... I heard about what happened while you were holding court earlier," she said. "The head of the Han clan was complaining about what a grave insult it was. What happened?"

He laughed. "Is it really that surprising I'd want to flee the scene while _he_ was running his mouth?"

She didn't respond. He exhaled. "...I had an episode in the middle of court," he said. "I'm fine now though, really. I just needed some air."

The oil lamp on Ling's desk flickered, and illuminated his features with a pale orange glow. Lan Fan shuffled uncomfortably in the doorway. He spoke of 'having an episode' so casually, like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn't, but he'd never had to abandon court before. It didn't sound like he was fine, but the way he spoke, it sounded like he, at least, believed it.

"I see. ...I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"There's no need for apologies, really," he said, waving a hand. "You need to worry about taking care of yourself, too. Besides, I finally had a chance to talk to Alphonse and Mei. You were right, I'm feeling much better now."

"Oh!" She'd completely forgotten about that, so concerned with Ling's immediate well being. "That's great to hear! Um, let me know if you need anything else, then."

Though he sat turned away and she couldn't see his face, she could hear the smile in his voice. "Thank you, Lan Fan."

She scurried back to her post, though the feeling that curled around her insides was bittersweet. Whatever had happened, Ling genuinely seemed to be feeling better than she'd seen him in years. She knew what he sounded like when he was just _acting_ fine, and this wasn't that. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment in herself. That she had been watching him suffer for so long, unable to do anything to help him, yet his other friends had apparently been able to so easily. She was supposed to always be there for him, and yet...

What _was_ he awake so late doing, anyway? It had completely slipped her mind to ask.

She reminded herself harshly that it wasn't her place to pry.

 

* * *

 

"Wait, you want to learn alchemy?"

"Is that so strange?" Ling tapped a finger to his chin. "The way I see it, this whole thing was my idea, so it would be rude of me to just throw all the actual work on you two," he said. "Besides, if I'm going to help with the research side of things, I'll need to know what I'm actually researching, right?"

Al and Mei exchanged a look. "I mean... he has a point," said Mei. Xiao Mei shrugged.

It wasn't a _bad_ thing for Ling to take an interest in doing alchemy himself, just... unexpected. To be fair, Al didn't know him that well—and, really, neither did Mei—but he never seemed like much of the scholarly type. Even when they'd bring up their own research, he would quickly get worn down by jargon if he ever tried to ask for more information, and lost interest. It hammered in just how serious he was about this.

That, or he didn't know how much work it actually was to learn alchemy. Which would be a rude accusation to make.

Al shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well... I guess there's no harm in it," he said. "I'm not really sure where to begin if you have no knowledge of alchemy whatsoever, but there are plenty of books I can recommend that explain the fundamental princi—"

"Oh, no, I'm not interested in any of that," Ling cut him off sharply. "Just teach me how to do transmutations."

"Wh—Ling!" Mei shot to her feet. "You can't just take shortcuts like that! It doesn't matter if it's alchemy or alkahestry; if you're going to master it, you need to build up a foundation of knowledge before you can—"

"I'm not _interested_ in building up a foundation of knowledge," Ling said. "I'm not looking to master anything. There is only one thing I'm interested in accomplishing, and both of you know exactly what that is."

Mei slumped back into her seat with a defeated sigh. Al spoke up. "I mean... if you're really looking for a 'quick and dirty' approach, I'm not sure how you expect us to help you. Both of us learned alchemy the traditional way."

"Easy," Ling chirped. "Just help me figure out how to do my first transmutation. I've always been a hands-on learner, so I can figure out the rest of what I need from there."

As a scholar, Al was flabbergasted. You didn't just jump straight into doing transmutations, even basic ones. You had to work your way up, through learning chemistry, physics, the Tree of Life, how to read and write alchemical matrices—hell, you had to learn how to draw perfect circles for the transmutation to work in the first place. You couldn't even just have someone draw the circle for you, clap your hands, and expect it to work. You had to know what every component meant, what every atom would be doing (within a reasonable margin of error). And that was just for a basic transmutation with purely physical components. Once you factored in the more esoteric side—souls, philosopher's stones, homunculi, which _was_ what Ling's ultimate goal was—it was like a different science altogether.

As a friend, who had seen the desperation in Ling's eyes firsthand, however...

Al sighed. "Alright, first things first—what do you want to transmute? Something small, basic; something you have lying around that you can practice with in order to get a feel for the transmutation process. A cup, a toy, a piece of jewelry...?"

"Oh!" Mei piped up, and started rummaging around through the books and papers and other odds and ends scattered about the coffee table in front of them. Finally, she procured a small, dragon-shaped paperweight. "How about this?"

She tossed it over to Ling, who caught it deftly. It was a simple little thing, about five centimeters tall, made from smooth, cool gray metal worn around the edges. No complex shapes, just a stout cylinder for the body and a few cute triangles for its facial features and other details. He turned it over in his hands. "So, I'm just supposed to transmute a copy of this?" he asked. "That doesn't seem too hard. What do I do first?"

"Well," Al said, "first you just have to draw a circle. Uh, should we take this outside, or...?"

"No, here is fine," Ling said, fishing a stick of chalk from his robes. "It's nothing that can't be cleaned up later."

He crouched down onto the floor of the library, chalk in hand, and began tracing the outline of a circle. Al winced as it scraped noisily across the smooth cherrywood, but a moment later the circle was complete. Or, at least, a very poor imitation of a circle. The lines were shaky, bloated around the middle, and didn't meet at the ends. "Huh?" He tried again, slower this time, and the result somehow ended up even worse. And again. And again.

Mei stifled a giggle. "You thought drawing a circle was easy?"

Ling dropped the piece of chalk and flopped backwards onto the floor. "Well, you alchemists make it look easy!" he moaned.

"Well, yeah. We spend ages practicing," Al said. "Nothing about alchemy is easy. Are you still sure about this?"

"Of course I am." He sat straight back up. "Alright, how about one of you two come over and show me how to do it properly? The whole transmutation circle, not just... the circle."

Al and Mei exchanged glances. "I'll leave this one to you, my sweet Alphonse," Mei said, and gave him an affectionate clap on the back. He blushed, and walked over to where Ling was sitting. Mei sat back down in her chair, and crossed one leg over the other. Xiao Mei jumped into her lap. Al reckoned the two of them just wanted a better view of the impending disaster.

"Alright, here's how you do it..."

He explained every step of the process, from how to actually draw a circle, to the meaning of every individual rune, the shape of the matrix, and how they determined the output of the transmutation. When Ling seemed confused, he pulled some textbooks off the shelves for visual aid. An alchemist had to not only activate the circle itself, after all, but really understand everything that was happening, what every component would be doing, and where it would be going. Just clapping your hands on the circle, as opposed to actually activating it, was like the difference between reading a book and just holding it.

"Since we're only working with a single element," Al explained, "we don't need to do any chemical balancing equations or anything."

It was hard to tell how much of this Ling was actually getting. He hadn't been taking notes, only nodding along, and his expression was impassive as ever, but he raised a hand. "When you say equations, you mean, like... math? Alchemy has math in it?"

"Sure does," he said. "Lots and lots of math. Having second thoughts?"

Ling grimaced, but said, "Nope. Continue."

Al sighed. Ling really wasn't going to be discouraged from this, was he? "Alright, uhh, what to use..." He looked around. "Ling, are you particularly attached to this chair?"

Ling shook his head, and Al clapped his hands onto the chair in question. It crackled, fizzled, and disintegrated into its base materials. Iron from its skeleton, gold dust from its gilding, and a mess of white and colored fibers from the cushioning. Al sorted it all into three neat piles.

"Iron is pretty easy to work with," he explained, bringing it over to where Ling sat, "and it's in a lot of everyday objects. Like I said, we're only working with one element, so it's not going to be too complicated, but we still need to know how many moles of that element we're going to be using in the transmutation."

Ling raised his hand again. "Question. Moles? Like... the animal?"

From her vantage point, Mei burst into a fit of hyena laughter. Al dragged his palm down his face and exhaled deeply. "No, the... the unit of measurement."

After a long, _long_ explanation, and much trial and error as he guided him through the math, Ling finally nodded. "Alright, I'm ready to give it a try."

Consulting and double-checking the formulas Al had written out, he measured out the components, mumbling to himself all the while. He traced his finger along the outer runes, flipped through the textbooks laid out a few times, and finally, hesitantly, he clapped his hands onto the circle. Light began to crackle along the edges, towards the center, lighting up the room, engulfing the metal, twisting it and molding it, until—

It fizzled out abruptly, and the iron melted into goo with the saddest "blurp" noise Al had ever heard. Mei at least had the decency to try and stifle her laughter this time.

Ling scratched the back of his head, but didn't seem all that surprised. "Guess I didn't do it right," he said. "I can still use the same materials to try again, right?"

Even failure wasn't going to dissuade him, it seemed. Al sighed. "The circle you can use as many times as you want, as long as it's not smudged or anything," he explained. "And in theory, if you know what you're doing, you can keep using the same materials as often as you want. But, well, you _don't_ know what you're doing, and that margin of error in calculating the atomic components is gonna start to add up. So if you don't keep using fresh iron, it might turn... um, radioactive."

Grimacing, Ling poked the little puddle of iron goo. It wobbled like jelly. "Yikes. Oh well, we'll destroy as many chairs as we need to, or swords, or whatever else is lying around that isn't irreplaceable. I'll just keep trying."

Keep trying he did—late into the night, well after Al and Mei retired to their chambers. They returned the following morning to find Lan Fan right where they'd left her, holding austere guard over the library's entrance. When she saw their faces, she stepped aside to allow them entry, and then went right back to her post. Ling was still sitting awake, dark circles formed under his eyes, performing transmutation after transmutation like clockwork. Behind him stood a pile of twisted, ugly, misshapen iron baubles that still weren’t approaching the little dragon statuette, but at least seemed to be consistently solid now. He didn't look up when they entered—didn't even seem to notice they were there.

Al slumped against the nearest bookshelf. "We should never have agreed to this," he sighed. "Look at him. It's like he's possessed."

"He really wants his friend back, doesn't he?" said Mei softly, watching as Ling tossed another chunk of iron into the pile behind him. "Enough that he'd hurt himself like this, if that's what it took..."

Old memories began churning in Al's chest—far from the first time, since this all started. "It's not healthy to want anything to the point of hurting yourself."

"I know, but..." She sniffed, as tears began pooling in her eyes. "I really do hope we figure out a way to bring him back! It's been so long, but Ling's still so... so sad!"

Al pulled her in for a hug, and she sobbed quietly into his chest. He understood where she was coming from. He really did. And his heart ached seeing his friend like this.

But, seeing how far Ling was willing to go, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe it would be better if they _didn't_ succeed.

 

* * *

 

The first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, and still the light in Ling's room remained lit. Lan Fan frowned beneath her mask. This had been going on for months, and every night the feeling of uneasiness that flooded the night became more and more palpable.

She creaked the door open. Ling was asleep at his desk, head buried for a book—for a moment, she feared the worst, until she saw the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It _was_ a strange sight, though; Ling had never exactly been much of an erudite, but maybe Al and Mei's hobbies had started to rub off on him. And her heart absolutely did _not_ flutter at the adorable sight of him snoring softly with his cheek pressed against the pages.

She walked over to his side, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "Young Lord? Is everything alright?"

"Mnnh?" He stirred, and looked up at her, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Oh... yeah, I'm fine. I guess I just dozed off."

Her mask obscured the affectionate smile that crept across her lips. "You should get to bed," she said. "It's already dawn. Try to get whatever proper rest you can."

Ling groaned, stretching his arms above his head. "Yeah, I probably should. Thanks."

As he got up, Lan Fan peered over his shoulder at the mess of books and papers that littered his desk. She hadn't meant to poke her nose into anything she wasn't supposed to, and for the most part it was nothing she understood, but there was one thing Ling had sketched out that she recognized immediately.

She reached over and took the parchment from his desk. "Is this... a transmutation circle?"

Ling stopped dead in his tracks, and then laughed airily. "Yeah, I've started dabbling in some alchemy with Al and Mei's help. I figured I could use a hobby. Of course, I didn't expect it to involve so much math, but I guess that's why it's such an elite skill, huh?"

Alarm bells began going off in Lan Fan's head. Ling had _never_ taken any sort of interest in alchemy or alkahestry. When they were young, his mother and grandfather had encouraged him to pick up the skill in order to improve his standing, but he just didn't have the attention span for it. When he began learning swordfighting, his mentor, who had also been an accomplished alchemist, tried to teach him enough to improve his battle prowess, but to no avail. Even when he began his hunt for the secret of immortality, he hadn't actually shown any interest in actually learning Amestrian alchemy beyond what he absolutely needed—which, it turned out, wasn't much.

This was absolutely not a passing fancy. If Ling had taken an interest in learning alchemy out of the clear blue sky, then there was a _reason_ for it.

Lan Fan rifled through his notes. A lot of it was just math and jargon that read like a completely different language, and she was astounded that Ling had taken the time to understand _any_ of this. But of the little she did understand, one phrase stood out amongst the rest: "Theory for the transmutation of life." She skimmed the following passage, and there was one word she recognized amongst the jargon. Her heart plummeted. "Homunculus."

And everything fell into place.

"This... this isn't... you're not..."

"...Lan Fan, listen to me—"

"What could you _possibly_ be thinking?!" She knew it was out of line to question her liege, much less raise her voice at him, but the flood of emotion overpowered her sense of reason. "I thought the reason you've been in such a good mood was that you were finally starting to heal, but—but _this?!_ You're trying to _resurrect the dead?!_ Is this why you've been spending so much time with Al and Mei? Have you learned _nothing?_ Why would you even think this is _possible?_ Why... why would you... why would you risk everything?!"

Ling's didn't say anything, which was worse than if he'd reprimanded or argued with her. His expression remained neutral, but he looked tired, weary, and not just because he'd been up all night. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

"...I'm sorry," she said finally. "That was inappropriate of me."

He sighed. "No, it's not that. You don't need to hold your tongue around me—I've told you as much before. It's just... I didn't tell you because I knew you'd worry about me, and I didn't want to cause you any distress." He smiled sadly at her. "Seems like I failed."

Lan Fan bit her lip, holding back the tears that began poking at the corners of her eyes. "But _why?!"_

"Why indeed." He turned away. "It's funny. Believe it or not, you're the one who gave me the idea, when you pointed out that it wouldn't be human transmutation. After that, I... I couldn't let it go. Not until I knew for sure if it could be done."

There wasn't really anything else she could say. If Alphonse and Mei—especially Alphonse—hadn't managed to change his mind, she doubted she would have any more success. Besides, Ling wasn't one to be swayed once his mind was made up. He'd always been like that, always wanted everything. Neither of them met the other's gaze, but Lan Fan knew that if she did, she would see fire in his eyes.

It wasn't that she didn't understand what drove him to go this far. Rather, it was precisely because she understood, and she knew better than anyone else how much pain he was in. She didn't want Greed to stay dead, either. She hadn't forgiven him entirely for possessing Ling's body in the first place, but they'd fought side-by-side on the Promised Day. She had witnessed his genuine despair over her grandfather's death, and she remembered his anguished cry for her to let go when his weight threatened to rip her automail from its socket. She'd watched as he and Ling defended the gate from Bradley's forces, indistinguishable from one another. Though she hadn't known him long enough to call him her friend, she acknowledged and respected the homunculus as a valuable ally.

Yet in that moment, she couldn't help but resent him for the pain he was causing Ling, even _years_ after his death. It was unfair of her, she knew that, but how else was she supposed to feel? Or was it herself she was resenting, for being so powerless? For helping Greed go through with his self-sacrifice in the first place? Was she, too, to blame for this? She didn't know anymore.

What she did know was that watching the person she loved tear himself apart broke her heart into a thousand pieces.

"There's nothing I can say that will change your mind about this, is there?" she asked quietly.

"I think you already know the answer to that, Lan Fan."

Finally, she summoned the courage to meet his gaze. "Then, please promise me something. Promise me that you won't do anything that will put your own life at risk. I understand how much you want to see him again, but please remember what's at stake. It's not just about you anymore. The people of Xing would be lost without you." _And so would I._

Ling chuckled warmly, and the smile he gave her was genuine, but exhausted. "You said it yourself, didn't you? It's not human transmutation we're attempting. This isn't going to be like when the Elric brothers tried to bring their mother back. That's why Alphonse and Mei are working with me. They won't let me do anything that stupid." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "So, please. Don't worry about me."

Lan Fan exhaled. It was her _job_ to worry about him, but... "Alright, then," she said. "You should get some rest."

She left without another word.

The late, sleepless nights continued. Lan Fan didn't touch the subject further, and Ling certainly wasn't going to bring it up. When he fell asleep at his desk, she would avert her eyes from his studies and guide him to bed, no questions asked. She would gently prod him awake if he nodded off during the day, and restrained herself from nagging him about his well being. He knew what he was doing, and she knew by now there was nothing she could do to stop him.

All she could do was watch sadly as he sat awake at his desk, alchemy tomes and scribbled notes hazy in the dim, flickering light, as he wore himself thinner night after night. All she could do was swallow the uneasiness that gripped her, and trust him.

It wasn't until much later that she realized he hadn't promised her a thing.


	3. Chapter 3

"You know, Ling," said Alphonse, rubbing his temple as he scanned his and Mei's notes one more time, "when you first approached me and Mei that day in the library, I thought you were insane. I mean, I still think you are, but I didn't think we'd actually get anywhere. But we might actually have something."

It had been eight months since the day in question—since Ling had completely turned his and Mei's worlds upside down. Eight months brimming with stress, heated arguments, sleepless nights, dead end after dead end, and only Ling's crazed determination pushing them forward. And now, finally, they had a lead, yet the air between the three of them felt more tense than ever. The moonlight cast a dim, blue, ghostly glow that turned the library an ethereal purple, and the road ahead felt no brighter than the murk.

Until now, their research had been focused on the transmutation of souls. How to create them from nothing, how to bind them to inanimate objects, to what extent they could be reconstructed if torn apart, or anything else that might prove fruitful. All the results turned up the same: souls could not be created alchemically, and could not be reconstructed once lost. No matter how hard Ling pushed, his determination couldn't change cold, hard facts.

Yet he pushed, and pushed. He insisted that there _had_ to be a way, logic be damned. Al learned very quickly that there was no arguing with him.

And in spite of all logic, in spite of all odds, Ling may have been right.

"I don't get it," he said a week earlier, pacing along the library floor with a scowl plastered across his face. "The people of Xerxes were able to create a homunculus hundreds of years ago! Why can't we replicate their results now?!"

"Like I said before, I don't think they actually created a soul from nothing," Al tried to explain. "Ed and I have talked about this—about how his true form resembled the creatures we saw beyond the gate, and how he could only maintain physical form through our father's blood. Kind of like a blood seal for binding a soul, rather than creating one. We suspect that they _tried_ to create a homunculus, and thought they did, but actually just summoned something else entirely."

That answer did nothing to help Ling's mood. "Then what about the rest of the homunculi?! He recreated Greed once, why can't we do the same?!"

It was so hard to stay level-headed when Ling just wouldn't listen. "Didn't you say that he reabsorbed Greed? His soul would have never been destroyed—just his body. Reconstructing a body is one thing, but a soul..."

Mei, who had been sitting quietly throughout the whole exchange, finally spoke up. "Hang on a minute. His body was completely destroyed, right? That would include his brain. So how was he able to remember how he died? Or anything from his past life at all?"

None of them could come up with a satisfactory answer. Ling insisted that the emotional bonds he'd forged and trauma he'd endured had shaped his soul, so it shouldn't matter what happened to his body. But it didn't work that way. Though souls in a philosopher's stone, for instance, maintained a vague shape of the people they'd once been, it was only to the extent that a viscous liquid would try to retain the form of its original container. Tangible memories required tangible storage. The mind was a link between the body and soul—that was how they'd figured out that Al's human body still existed in the first place.

So what did that imply about Greed? And, by extension, the dwarf in the flask, who was first brought into this world with nothing but a vial of blood yet maintained extensive knowledge, memories, and sense of self? Logically, it meant that the data of their souls—thoughts, feelings, memories—was stored elsewhere.

Moreover, if Pride and Envy had survived the destruction of their souls, albeit in embryonic forms, it followed that the same held true for Greed. When Al had broken his blood seal, his soul had been called back to his body.

The question was, without an embryonic physical form, where had _Greed's_ soul been called back to?

That was the hypothesis, strung together with tangible alchemical proofs, that Mei had spent the last several nights compiling. Not only that, but with Al's help, she'd managed to reverse engineer and retool the procedure the Xerxesians had used to create the dwarf in the flask to begin with. Though Ling had the raw determination to see this through, his knowledge of alchemy was still spotty, at best. He couldn't draw a transmutation circle without a stencil, constantly fumbled his math, and didn't even bother memorizing the periodic table of elements. With his limited knowledge, there was only so much he could do to help figure out how the mechanics of something this esoteric would actually work.

But he _was_ improving. The little iron dragon he twirled in his fingers as he read over Mei's notes was a near perfect replica of the original.

Mei breathed a little sigh. "It wasn't easy to come up with all this," she said. "The theoretical side should all check out, but who knows how well it'll hold up in practice. There are a lot of unknown variables we'd have to test before we know it's safe, much less functional at all, and that's ignoring the obvious problem..."

Ling didn't really seem to be listening, though his expression remained impassive as he leafed through the notes, through the detailed runes and matrices and Mei's exhaustive logic. Finally, he spoke. "This all makes sense to me," he said. "So, when are we going to do it?"

Mei sputtered. "Ling! Did you not hear a word I just said?!"

"Of course I did." He looked up. "We'll cross those bridges when we get there. The important thing is that we know how we're going to do this now, right?"

"No! We! Don't!" She punctuated each word with a sharp kick to Ling's shins from under the table. "This is all just a hypothesis, you _dummy emperor!_ How do we know we'll be getting the right person?! We don't even know for sure if Greed's soul _is_ still intact! And even if it is, do you not see how this has the potential to go _horribly wrong?!"_

Nonchalantly, Ling picked Xiao Mei up by the scruff of her neck where she was using her little paws to punch his arm and set her back down on the other side of the table. "Enlighten me."

"The _gate!_ " Mei cried. "Did you not realize that in order to pull this off we'd have to open the gate?! Where else would Greed's soul have been called back to? Maybe the purely physical side of the transmutation is solid, but all bets are off once the gate is involved! Have you forgotten that there's a _toll_ for opening it?!"

Ling sighed. “Of course I haven’t forgotten,” he replied, leaning back in his seat. “I still have the Stone, you know. That seems as good a toll as any.”

“You don’t get to decide what the toll is, Ling,” said Al, resting both of his elbows on the table in front of him. “There’s no telling what could be taken. An arm, a leg... even your whole life.”

"I'm not going to ask you to open the gate for me, Alphonse," Ling said, and set down his iron dragon on the table in front of him. "Once was enough. And I wouldn't put you through that either, Mei. We'll figure something else out."

"Huh?" Mei blinked. "I thought you'd be a lot more stubborn about this."

"Why would I be?" he asked. "You're my friends. I wouldn't throw you under the bus and force you to risk your lives like that. Besides, you've done enough as it is. I don't think I've properly thanked you enough for all the work you've put into this, so... thank you, really."

Al and Mei exchanged a look. "Y-Yeah, of course," Al said. "We're not giving up, either, not if there's a chance it's possible after all."

Ling yawned, and hopped to his feet, gathering up Mei's notes. "Well, that's that. We can pick this up again tomorrow and figure out what to do next. Might as well get some sleep for now."

Without another word, he headed off in the direction of the exit, waving back at them as he walked away. Al bit his lip, and for a long moment sat next to Mei in silence. Then, finally, he stood up, stretching out his back, and offered Mei his hand. She took it gingerly and got to her feet, then wrapped her arms around his elbow and leaned into him.

"Come on, Mei," he said, giving her a soft smile. "Let's get some rest."

It was enough that he could swallow the uneasy feeling that had settled in his gut as he watched Ling walk away.

 

* * *

 

The sleepless nights Ling spent holed up in his room came to an abrupt end.

He didn't say a word to Lan Fan—he bade her goodnight like nothing was out of the ordinary, and an hour later he was gone. Dread pierced her very core. When—how—had he managed to slip past her?!

She left in such a frantic rush that her mask lay forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Al and Mei were violently jolted from their slumber when Lan Fan barged into their chambers, nearly tearing the door off its hinges, and before they could even process what was happening she cried, _"Where is the Young Lord?!"_

"Wh—huh?!" Mei shielded her eyes from the flood of light. "Isn't he... isn't he in bed?"

_"Would I be here if he were?!"_

"Mnngh," Al mumbled, rubbing his eyes and looking over at Mei. "The last time we saw him was in the library earlier... when we..."

The fog of sleep dissipated in an instant. Their eyes widened.

_Oh no._

Mei struggled to keep her voice even. "Lan Fan. I don't know how to tell you this, but Ling might be about to do something really, really stupid. I think... I think he's going to try and open the gate. We need to find him _now._ "

For a moment the three of them sat in stupor, frozen by shock. Then Al and Mei clambered out of bed, hot on Lan Fan's heels as she dashed down the hall.

 

* * *

 

_"Ling!"_

_"Ling, where are you?!"_

The three of them had split up, leaving no corner or broom closet unchecked as they raced through the palace. Ling couldn't have gone far. Al and Mei shouted his name up and down the halls as Lan Fan thundered on ahead, kicking down door after door in her frenzied search. Nothing, nothing, _nothing._

Damn it, how could she have gotten so _careless?!_ She knew exactly how desperate Ling was—she knew how far he was willing to go when he wanted something this badly!

So _why had she let this happen?!_

Her face burned with shame, and she clenched her teeth together so hard her jaw went numb. The world around her was reduced to a blur, the desperate pounding of her heart drowning out her friends' cries and the growing commotion as their panic stirred the rest of the castle's inhabitants. She didn't care. The only thing she cared about was—

She rounded the corner of the east wing, and the door at the end of the corridor pierced through her whirlwind of thoughts, fading into view like she'd woken from a dream. It was shut tight, but light shone through the cracks, and she _knew._

She slammed the entire weight of her body against it, but it wouldn't budge. "Young Lord!" she cried, pounding fervently with her shaking fists. "Please, if you're in there, answer me!"

The sharp intake of breath from the other side of the door was distinctly Ling's, and the shadow of his figure under the door halted. "Lan Fan?"

A breathless, shuddering laugh escaped her lips, and she let her whole weight sink into the door, slumping to the ground. She wasn't too late. Whatever he was about to do, she'd made it time to stop him. _He was alive._

"Alphonse and Mei said—" her lungs were dry and her throat burned, but she pushed the words through. "They said you... you were going to try to open the gate. Is it... is it true?"

For an excruciating moment, Ling said nothing. Then, he laughed softly. "I was hoping you wouldn't have to find out about that."

Her heart lurched. So it _was_ true. "But _why?!_ Why would you do something so reckless?! You know what's at stake!"

"You know why."

Lan Fan bit her lip to stop its trembling, cursing herself for not bringing her mask. She _did_ know, and that's why this was so painful. She rested her forehead against the wooden door. “Young Lord, _please.”_ Her voice was just above a hoarse whisper, and she was barely cognizant of the sound of Al and Mei's footsteps from behind. “You can’t do this alone.”

"I have to." Ling's voice exuded regret, but his words were iron. "It's exactly like Al and Mei said. I don't get to choose what the toll will be. This was all my idea. That's why it has to be me, and only me. I can't risk losing anyone else."

"Ling, are you _insane?!_ " cried Al. "You can't just—you can't just run off and try to open the gate without telling anyone! Even _we_ don't know what will happen! You're the emperor! What'll happen to Xing if you die here?!"

"I don't plan on dying here," he said. "But, if that happens—the throne will go to Mei. I've set aside provisions."

"Wh—" Mei squawked. "You can't just spring that on me like that! You really think the other clan heads will just accept this?!"

"No. But I trust you to make them."

Lan Fan grit her teeth, swallowed the flood of emotions, and pushed herself to her feet. "I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to do this."

She took a step back, and rushed at the door, and—

"Lan Fan, I _order_ you to stand down."

—And she stopped dead in her tracks.

She remembered the way her automail had locked up during the cold desert nights as they traveled back to Xing after the Promised Day, moving forward toward a brighter future with Ling’s claim to the throne held tight in his grasp. The way it felt to work out how her nerves fit back together, how the phantom aches had somehow felt real even as she flexed her metal joints.

But none of that prepared her for the feeling of every muscle in her body seizing at once.

_Why...?_

The sight of her outstretched fingers trembling seemed like a thousand miles away, as the entire world crumbled around her. Her will of iron, strong enough to hack through the skin and bones and tendons of her own arm as Ling could only watch in horror, strong enough to risk her life a thousand times over, shattered like glass at those quiet, firm words.

She barely felt her knees hit the ground when her legs buckled beneath her. Her breath came in cold, uneven, shuddering gasps through quivering lips, and her shaking fists were barely enough to keep herself from falling over.

_Ling... How could you?_

And tears began to burn down her pallid cheeks.

She could barely hear Mei's impassioned cry above the ringing in her mind. "Ling... you BASTARD!" Her daggers whizzed past Lan Fan in perfect array, and she smashed her palm on the transmutation circle. "I won't let you get away with making Lan Fan cry!"

The door was blown straight off its hinges, and the force of the blast in the chill night whipped Lan Fan's hair past her face. Al and Mei rushed past her, towards where Ling stood in the center of the room, before a large transmutation circle. It was then that her thousand yard stare was broken by the red glint of Ling's blood, dagger sliced across the flesh of his palm. His expression was cold as death, as his blood trickled and splattered into the center of the circle.

The words forced themselves through Lan Fan's lips. "No... Ling...!"

And before Al and Mei could reach him, he slammed his hands down onto the circle. The runes crackled to life, and the world around her warped into an overpowering, nauseating crimson glare, like she was staring straight into the depths of hell. She lurched forward, but all the strength in her body crumbled away as her eyes met Ling’s one last time before he was dragged down into the shadowy abyss.

And she screamed with all her might.

_"LING!!!!!"_

 

* * *

 

_Ling's room was deathly quiet, save for the sound of Lan Fan's shuddering breaths as he wrung the washcloth into the bucket of warm water, painting it pink with her blood. She kept her head down, buried in the shirt he'd given her, as he dabbed again at where her flesh had been torn open by the whip. There was no need to trouble him with her treacherous, silent tears._

_She could tell how difficult this was for him, with his dominant arm still slung broken in its cast. Blood and water stained the sheets, and between the two of them she couldn't tell if she was the only one shaking. Ling had always been such an easygoing, flighty child, noncommittal and easily distracted. In truth, he was even annoying at times. But that look in his eyes when he'd gathered her, bloodied and broken and naked on the stone floor, in a bundle of his own clothing, disregarding the sharp words and glares of the Yao elders..._

_Ling's voice broke through the silence. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he murmured, almost imperceptible in the still air. "This is all my fault. If I had just listened to you and run away, you wouldn't... you wouldn't have had to pay the price for me. I'm such an idiot."_

_She tightened her grip on his shirt as he continued tending her wounds. The smell was distinctly his. "Please... Please don't apologize," she replied quietly. "I'm... I am a tool to serve my Lord. It is my duty to k-keep you safe. My life is nothing compared to—"_

_"I don't care about any of that," he said firmly. "You're my friend. I won't let anyone treat you as anything less."_

_Her breath hitched in her throat. It wasn't the first time he'd called her his friend, and it wouldn't be the last. She'd run out of words to try arguing. No matter what happened, what she said, what anyone said, he just never understood what their relationship was supposed to be. He was still a child, just over two years her junior, and yet..._

_The pain would be so much easier to bear if he treated her as a servant, but the softness of his touch hurt more than a thousand lashes ever could._

_So why...?_

**_Why?!_ **

 

* * *

 

Everything was white.

A blinding field of nothingness stretched for as far as Ling could see, save for a set of massive stone doors adorned with a mural of the Tree of Life. Only... no, it was different from what he was used to seeing in Al's textbooks. He only recognized some of the alchemical runes and symbols, some of which were exclusive to alkahestry, and the inscriptions were written in an old form of Xingese rather than Amestrian or some other ancient tongue. Rather than a tree that ascended to the sun, it spiraled towards the center into a taijitu. Or perhaps into a dragon devouring its own tail.

His attempts to glean any further meaning out of it, however, were interrupted by a voice—much like his own, but twisted, distorted. "I would have thought by now that you humans had learned better."

Ling whipped around to find... no one. But when he turned back, he found himself face-to-face with what could only be described as a white silhouette of his height and masculine build, sitting before the stone doors. He took a startled step back, but quickly composed himself.

The featureless plane of the being's face split into a wide, haunting grin. "But I guess you never really do."

No introduction was necessary. Though Ling had never had any interest in learning alchemy before this ordeal, his burning curiosity after Ed had pulled him and Envy through the gate led to him incessantly pestering him with questions—whenever Greed let him out to chat, at least, which became all the more frequent as the two of them settled into their comfortable rhythm. And so, Ed told him about what he had encountered beyond the doors. About what had been taken from him in return for the knowledge given to him.

About Truth.

"So," Ling said, conversational. "You're the bastard who ripped off Ed's limbs and stole Al's body."

His grin widened. "So, you know who I am, hmm?"

"You're the one most people would refer to as 'God,' or 'The Universe,' or 'The World,' or 'The Truth.' You're the all, you're the one, and you're also _me."_ Ed had recited it with a heavy dose of sarcasm, but Ling would never forget those words. "That sound about right?"

Truth laughed. "Getting ahead of ourselves, are we? Well then, let's start what you've come for."

The being pushed himself off the ground and to his feet. He turned his head down, grin exuding malice as the doors creaked open to endless void. A single, ghoulish, vertical eye snapped open from within its depths, and faster than Ling could process, a wave of shadowy hands shot towards him from the darkness.

_Like Pride._

Ed had told him about this part, too. He swallowed down his burning instinct to run, and snapped his gaze away from the haunting abyss, towards Truth. "Actually, I was hoping to skip all that."

All at once, everything stopped.

The shadow hands stopped just centimeters from his body, and one was close enough to graze against his cheek. He struggled to keep his expression unaffected, even as the shadows snaked back into the gate, and the doors pounded back together. Though Truth seemed surprised, his grin didn't drop. "Well, now. That's a new one."

"I like to think of myself as a trendsetter." Ling's words were playful, but his voice was as cold as his features.

"Is that right?" Truth tilted his head. "So if you're not here to peek into the gate, then what brings you here?"

"I was hoping to make a bargain," Ling said. "No trip through the gate, no forbidden alchemical knowledge. You have something of mine, and I want it back."

Truth chuckled. "You would make a deal with God?"

"Or with the devil, if you'd prefer," Ling replied, arms across his chest. Then, he fished around in his robes briefly, and pulled out a small, clear vial filled with red liquid. "From what I heard happened with Mustang, this should be suitable payment, correct?"

A wide grin stretched across Truth's face. "That depends entirely on what it is you're asking for. Well, out with it."

The endless white void was somehow suffocating in its eternity. "You're supposedly God and the Universe, aren't you? You should know what I'm here for." Ling set his mouth into a straight line, but when Truth didn't respond, he continued. "The stone, for Greed."

For another long moment, Truth said nothing. Then he began to chuckle, and before long was laughing uproariously. "Are you still such a novice at alchemy that you haven't learned? There is no exchange equivalent to a soul that's been lost—not even a Philosopher's Stone! And yet you think this possible!?"

"His soul is different. It was created with alchemy, and it can be brought back with alchemy," he said, frowning. "Besides, no—"

"—Nothing is impossible," Truth interrupted him. "That's what you were going to say, right, _kid?"_

Ling's eyes snapped wide open. For the first time since he'd arrived, Ling fully registered that the voice speaking to him was not solely his own—it wasn't just some otherworldly distortion. There was a second voice layered on top of it.

Greed's voice.

He ground his teeth together. "Don't... don't you _dare_ mock him!"

Truth tilted his head, a sad facsimile of something more. _"Huh?"_

 _"Stop messing around!"_ Ling cried, and clenched his fists so tight they began shaking. _"Just fucking answer me! Can it be done or not?!"_

"You're the alchemist, you tell me." Truth leaned back against the gate nonchalantly. "Or are you? In any case, even _you_ should know better by now than to think human transmutation is possible."

"He's not—"

"—He's not human, right. But he was to you, wasn't he?"

The words were a punch straight to Ling's throat.

Truth laughed, and continued. "Why else would you have gone to such lengths? And here you are, trying to abuse a loophole to bring him back on a technicality. Isn't that a little unfair to everyone else who has loved and lost?"

What could he even say to that? Truth was right. Truth was right and he knew it, and he hated it. He wasn't the only one who had ever lost something they'd be willing to give everything to get back. He would never truly understand the pain of two young boys who wanted so badly to see their mother again, or a grieving parent who so desperately wanted to cradle her child in her arms just once. But he knew the pain that drove them to commit the taboo, because it was the same pain that brought him here. Exploiting a loophole to get what _he_ wanted when so many others—people he knew and loved—had tried and failed was one of the most selfish things he could possibly ask for.

But the worst part was that even knowing that, he didn't care. He thought of Fu, who gave up his life for him and whose death would have been meaningless if not for the quick-thinking of Buccaneer. He thought of Lan Fan, who gave up her arm for him; whom he callously left behind in the physical world, crumpled on the ground and screaming his name.

And he thought of Greed. Greed, who he met under the absolute worst of circumstances, yet became his partner. Greed, who called him names and laughed obscenities, but never, not _once_ tried to shut him out completely. Greed, who chatted with him like they were friends from the very beginning, even when they weren't. Greed, who acted arrogant and aloof to mask the pain that left him no respite ever since Bido's death. He hid it well, even from himself. Laughed that cocky laugh of his like it was nothing. But on those nights they lay awake together staring at the stars, the fear, confusion, and loneliness swirled around in his head for Ling—and _only_ Ling—to see. Was he able to feel Greed’s suffering so acutely just because they shared a body, or…?

Greed, who was so, _so_ much more than his name implied, who cared so deeply for the people around him, who only ever wanted to be wanted, but had only realized it right at the end. 

Long buried emotions surged through Ling's body, and for the first time, it sank in, just how much he had _loved_ Greed.

How much he _still_ loved Greed, even after all these years.

And the dam

broke.

"I just want _something_ back," he said quietly, and then, he _screamed_. "I've lost so much, and I just want _one thing_ back that was taken from me, and _I don't care what I have to do to get it! JUST GIVE GREED BACK TO ME!"_

Greed wasn't the only thing Ling had lost. But maybe, just maybe, he was the one thing he could get back.

After all those years of repressing his grief, the white hot, ugly tears of pain and rage and despair finally broke through. The flood was so powerful that it knocked him to his knees. The Stone slipped from his grasp as his fists hit the floor, and he lay kneeling before God himself, shaking, sobbing, as if he were just a child.

A long moment passed. The air between them was filled only by Ling's choked, shuddering, desperate sobs, as the red vial rolled across the white expanse, unhindered by normal principles of friction or gravity. Truth knelt down to pick it up, and then began walking over to him. "You're not going to take no for answer, are you? You really are just as much of a greedy bastard as he is." A sigh. "Fine, then. You were half-correct; when his vessel was destroyed, his soul was summoned back to the gate, where it came from. And unlike a proper human soul, it _can_ be called back.

"But you were wrong in assuming that you could just pick out whatever soul you fancied." Truth stood before him, looking down, and then knelt to his side, stone in hand. "Even if you kept transmuting flask dwarves for the rest of your days, the chances of your friend answering your call would normally be infinitesimally small." A ghostly white finger pointed at Ling's chest. "But you were much closer to him than a normal friend, weren't you? Quite literally—you shared a vessel. You clung to him, even as he was being torn apart. Of course pieces of your souls would have splintered off into each other. Not enough to say he still lives inside of you—but enough that if your soul calls, his will answer."

Truth stood up. "It's ironic, isn't it? The very reason this is possible is the same reason it shouldn't be: you cared for him. That his soul isn't _human_ is only a technicality—a loophole. It can be done, but it's still wrong on principle, you know?" He chuckled. "You humans really are something else. Have you really thought about this, though? You're giving up immortality—the very thing you used to claim the throne. The Stone may seem like a comparatively small toll, but who knows what unforeseen consequences this exchange could have? More than that, you're giving up _his_ immortality, too. Without a stone at his core, he'll only have a single life. An indistinguishably human life. In other words, if he dies, you won't get a second chance." Though lacking visible eyes, it felt like Truth was staring straight into his very soul. "Are you certain?"

Ling craned his neck upward to meet Truth’s hollow features. Tears continued streaming down his face, furiously as ever, but by now his sobbing had subsided enough that he was able to speak. "How many times... do I have to say it?" His voice broke. "I don't... I don't _care_ what the cost is. Just _give him back."_

"Very well."

The stone dissolved into the air, and Truth began to follow. "A parting word before I go," he said. "You won this round by luck alone. Not every attempt to strive for the impossible has a happy ending. Difficult choices don't always have easy answers. You may try to have everything, but for your efforts, you may only end up _losing_ everything." Truth's being had dissipated entirely, save for that wide, menacing grin. "I wonder just how long your luck will last?"

And he was gone. Then, across the expanse, where he had once stood before the gate, another figure began to materialize. A figure made of flesh and blood, hovering several feet above ground level.

An exact replica of himself, save the ouroboros tattoo on his left hand.

Ling scrambled to his feet and sprinted, tears blazing behind as he ran. The figure’s body was limp, suspended in midair. Ling tripped over his feet once, almost twice, as he dashed across the white expanse to his side.

And he caught him in his arms just before he fell. He was unconscious, but Ling could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against his body. He held him tightly, with shaking, unsteady, bone white fingers, as if he would disappear into the air the moment he let go.

"Mnngh?" Greed—and he knew for _sure_ it was Greed now—cracked an eye open. "Ling...? What’s…? H-Hey now… don’t make such a pathetic face… dumbass..."

Ling let out a sharp, joyful laugh, smile parting the tears that still flowed relentlessly. He continued laughing, softer, shaky through his sobs, drowning in the relief that washed over him as he pressed Greed’s body to his chest. He'd conquered the impossible, and now Greed was living proof, solid and warm and _real_ in his grasp. Even burdened by the additional weight, Ling’s body felt lighter than it had in years.

He rested his forehead down on Greed's chest. His body was still, but his heart beat steadily. For a long moment, Ling sat there, weeping silently into his bare skin, holding him tight. It would take a long time to convince himself that this wasn't just a dream, that this was _real_. If it was a dream, it was one he never wanted to end.

Finally, he managed to pull himself away. He shrugged off his crimson robe and wrapped it snugly around Greed’s body, hooking his arms behind his back and his knees. Then he hoisted him into the air, stumbling under his weight, but steadying his footing and securing his grip.

Greed had already fallen unconscious again, but his heartbeat and breathing remained steady against Ling's chest, flooding him with warmth. He knew this was only the beginning. There was still so much to do, so many loose ends to tie, but the air between them was filled with nothing but hope.

"Let's go home," he said, and smiled. "Partner."


	4. Chapter 4

Everything fucking hurt.

If he had to imagine what it felt like to be hit by a truck, that would fall just short of the pain that currently radiated through every fucking joint in his body. Greed tried to wrack his brain for something, _anything_ that might give him an idea as to what the hell happened to him, but quickly found himself much too exhausted. He moved to press a hand to his head to quell the throbbing, but all he got for his trouble was a sharp jolt of pain up his shoulder. Grimacing, he let his arm flop back onto the fluffy mattress.

Wait. Where the hell _was_ he? And why was his head so quiet?

_Ling? Hey, where are you?! Answer me, damn brat!_

No response.

The surge of panic was enough to push past the screaming of every nerve in his body and force his eyes open. He winced as the flood of light threw his pounding headache into overdrive, but he blinked rapidly until the world around him came into focus.

There was a lot of red, _bright_ red, and it was all much too over-saturated to be doing his already spinning head any favors. Everything from the sheets, to the blankets, to the canopy, to the curtains that swayed gently in the crisp, chill air. Even the decor was red, tinged with gold, from the dressers to the desk, even the fancy pot that housed small, pink flowers. The walls, thankfully, were a much more merciful off-white, boarded with maze-patterned hardwood and overdecorated with tapestries, fancy artwork—oh joy, more fucking red—and wall scrolls with weird squiggly calligraphy. Wait, he knew those squiggles. Xingese, right?

It was then that he noticed the figure sitting by his bedside, but he couldn't make out their features from his vantage point. Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position with one hand while pressing the other to his forehead, black hair spilling over his shoulders as he craned his neck and struggled to focus on the figure before him.

"Wha—Ling...?" Relief swelled in his chest, followed by confusion. What was he doing... outside?

Ling's eyes snapped open faster than Greed had ever seen them. "Greed!" He reached over and gripped the hand Greed wasn't using to hold his goddamn skull together. "You're awake!"

"Ugh... seems like it," he grunted, and flopped back onto the silk pillows. "What the hell... where the hell am I? Why are you... y'know, outside? Why does everything _fucking hurt?_ "

A moment of silence passed, before Ling withdrew his hand quietly. "How much do you remember?"

Greed knitted his eyebrows together and groaned. His immediate memory was a shadowy blur. Using any more brainpower than necessary right now sounded like a pain in the ass, but he tried to recall as much as he could. He remembered the Promised Day. He remembered facing Wrath, and fighting alongside Ling against his soldiers. He remembered the assault on Father, the eclipse, the nationwide transmutation circle, the final battle, the feeling of his soul being sucked out of his body, Ling refusing to let go—

"I... died, didn't I?" he mumbled. "Are we dead?" Had he failed to save Ling after all?

Ling laughed under his breath. "No, you're alive," he said. "Both of us are. And as for where, you're in Xing. My bedroom, to be specific."

In other circumstances, Greed might have taken the opportunity to crack a joke, but his head was still hurting like hell, nothing about this situation was funny, and he just wanted answers. "Okay, and I didn't die and you're outside because...?"

"Well, you _did_ die," Ling said. "Al and Mei found a way to bring you back with alchemy. We put you in a new body, though. That's why we're... separate."

Greed let out a sharp laugh. "Thank fuck, I can finally get some goddamn peace and quiet without you pestering me all the time. ...Tell 'em thanks, I guess." He smacked his lips together. His mouth tasted like he spent the last few days licking pure cotton. "Is there any water around here?"

He motioned to get up, but Ling pushed him back onto the pillows gently. "You're still recovering," he said. "I'll be right back. Just get some rest."

Sleep began to wash over him as soon as Ling left the room, and he was in absolutely no mood to fight it. "Sounds like... a plan."

 

* * *

 

Ling closed the bedroom door behind him, turned around, and was immediately greeted by a fist slamming into his gut.

"Ow!" He staggered backwards, rubbing his abdomen. "What was—?!"

Mei stood before him, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed and blazing up at him with anger. "What the hell is wrong with you, you big jerk?!" she demanded, and stomped on his foot— _hard_. Xiao Mei joined her assault, sinking her teeth into his ankle. "How could you just trick me and Alphonse and run off like that?! Do you really think everything would have just been fine and dandy for us if you'd died back there? Do you even have any _idea_ what you dying like that would have put us through?! You were really just gonna dump an entire country on me, and all that guilt on my dear, sweet, precious Alphonse?! You ASSHOLE!"

Ling wheezed. He'd _never_ heard her swear like this before, and his mind was still struggling to catch up to what was happening right now. "Mei, wait a—"

"I don't want to hear it!" she huffed, jamming her foot into his harder despite his wince of pain. "And what about Lan Fan?! How could you just use her position against her like that, knowing how much you mean to her?! Do you have any idea how much you hurt her back there?! How do you think she would have felt if you just marched off to your death and abandoned her? I thought she was your friend! I thought _all_ of us were your friends! _How could you do something like that?!_ "

For as long as he'd known her, Mei had always worn her heart on her sleeve and cried easily. It didn't matter if it was her own pain, someone else's, or just an emotionally heavy atmosphere—she cried faster, harder, and longer than anyone. But right now her eyes were dry as a bone, and the force of her glare was almost enough to knock Ling off his feet. He felt his heart catch in his throat. He'd known even at the time that he was acting selfishly, but...

"I... I never meant to hurt anyone." He exhaled, and let his shoulders drop. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, her glare almost faltered. Then, she steeled her expression, reached up, and yanked him down by the ear. "Don't apologize to me!" she cried, straight in his face. "Lan Fan should be the one here yelling at you, not me! Now, come on! You're going to apologize to her _right now!_ "

And she marched off, dragging Ling by the ear down the halls of the palace.

"Ow—owwowowoowwww! _Mei!_ " he protested, but Mei didn't budge. "I can walk on my own—you don't need to—"

"No talking! Save it for Lan Fan!"

"Y-Yes, I—" he was cut off by another sharp tug. "Ow! Can you—can you at _least_ fetch Greed a glass of water for me?!"

"Yes, yes, alright, whatever! It's just 'Greed this, Greed that' with you, isn't it?!" She all but threw him into the courtyard, and Xiao Mei finally let him go. "Now, go! Apologize! Right now! Stupid emperor!"

He sat in a heap, rubbing his earlobe as he stared up at her, dumbfounded. Mei didn't budge, just crossed her arms and glared down at him as Xiao Mei scurried back to her shoulder. Head still spinning, he slowly stood up, brushed the dirt off his clothes, and turned around.

The mid-morning sun blazed directly into his eyes—he hadn't even realized that much time had passed already. He winced, and moved his hand to shadow his face, blinking until the courtyard came into focus. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the giant peach tree, which Ling had planted shortly after becoming emperor. It was just starting to blossom for the season; the young, pale pink flowers swayed gently in the breeze. Light dappled through the petals, reflecting across the surface of the cool, shallow pond.

And then he saw Lan Fan, and the world stopped spinning.

She wasn't even looking at him. She sat beneath the peach tree, legs cradled to her chest and face veiled by shadow. Ling couldn't breathe. He'd been by her side through the lowest, most vulnerable points of her life, yet this was the smallest he'd ever seen her. This was all his fault. Lan Fan was the strongest person he knew, and here she was, curled into herself in so much pain and it was _all his fault_. How long had she been here, all alone with her thoughts? The thought made his stomach drop.

How could he have been so _stupid?_ How could he have hurt her like that? He'd been so single-mindedly fixated on getting Greed back, that he—

He walked over to her, as hesitantly as he might a frightened animal, and it wasn't until he stood right before her that she finally looked up. Her eyes were red, and he didn't know if it was from crying or lack of rest. Probably both.

The world was silent, until finally they both spoke at once.

"Lan Fan, I—"

"Young Lord, I—"

Ling cleared his throat. "You can go first."

She averted her gaze. "I... I'm sorry," she said, plucking patches of grass with her right arm until her knuckles went white. "I shouldn't have overstepped my boundaries. I should have known what you were planning from the start, but I was foolish, I forgot my place, I let my emotions get in the way of my duty, and I..."

Pain seared through his chest. When they were children, he hadn't understood what their difference in position actually meant. She was a kid around his age, and he'd never had a real friend before—that was all that mattered to him. But the world wasn't that simple. Just because rank didn't matter to him didn't mean it didn't matter to _her_ —and how could it not, when it had been hammered into her from birth that she was nothing but his servant? There was only so much his earnest desire to be friends could do, and it had taken him a long time to understand that.

Yet despite it all, after all their years together, she _had_ become his closest friend. The love they had for each other went beyond lord and retainer, and they both knew it. It had taken a long time for her to trust him; longer still to trust herself. But even now, the realities of their positions and Lan Fan's years of conditioning were a wedge between them—not just officially, but as people. He couldn't force her to do anything without undoing all the progress they'd made. It was slow, it was painful, it was lonely, but that's what it was.

And what had he done? He went and used her own status against her, thinking it was for her own good. And then he'd abandoned her. How could he have done that? It was no different than what Greed had done to him, tricking him into letting go so he could go off and _die_.

...No. It was worse. Lan Fan's entire sense of self hinged upon protecting him, whereas he had just been a stupid kid who wanted everything. Apparently, he still was.

"Lan Fan." He knelt to her level, and rested a hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tensed beneath his touch. "You did nothing wrong. There's nothing to apologize for. You were only thinking about what was best for me, right?" He smiled at her. "Thank you for caring so much about me. And... I'm sorry. I am so, _so_ sorry, Lan Fan. I'm sorry for not being honest with you from the start, for ordering you not to do your job, and for leaving you behind like that. But more than any of that, I'm sorry I hurt you."

She tried to hide her face, but her cheeks were tinged red and tears had begun to well up in the corners of her eyes. Cautiously, careful not to overstep boundaries if she wasn't emotionally ready, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a hug. At first she did nothing, and he was about to pull away, then she gripped the back of his robes and settled her entire weight into him. The quiet sound of her sobbing was muffled against his chest.

"I was so scared..." Her voice broke. "I was so scared that I'd lost you! That I couldn't do anything! I..."

"I know," he murmured, settling his hand on the back of her head. "I'm so sorry I put you through that."

She sniffled. "Was... was the transmutation a success? Did you really manage to bring him back?"

"Yeah," he said. "He's asleep right now, but he's back. He's gonna be alright."

He felt her cheeks part into a smile. "Then... it's fine. You succeeded, you both made it back safely. It doesn't matter what—"

"It _does_ matter." Ling frowned. He pulled away from her and looked straight into her eyes, hands rested on her shoulders. "Please, Lan Fan. I don't want to hurt you or anyone else like that ever again. From now on, if I'm ever about to do something that stupid or thoughtless, I want you to call me out. Not as part of your duty—but because you're my best friend. Help me be better."

She didn't say anything for a moment, just looked up at him as tears continued streaming silently down her face. Then, she wiped her eyes against her sleeve, bit her lip, and stared at the ground. "...I'll try."

He reached out to brush aside the strands of hair that had fallen into Lan Fan's eyes. Then he stood up, walked over to the base of the tree, and sat down next to her with his legs crossed. "This really takes me back, you know," he said, and cast her a warm smile. "Don't you remember? There was a peach tree just like this one back home when we were kids. I always tried to get you to race me to the top, but you'd just stand on the ground and watch me."

She chuckled softly. "I do remember. You know I didn't understand that you were just trying to play with me?" Then, a half-smile crossed her lips. "It was a good thing, though. Remember when you tried to stand on the top branch, and it snapped under your weight? You would've broken your neck if I hadn't caught you."

Ling let out a laugh. "Damn it, I was hoping you didn't remember _that_ much. That was just embarrassing."

Her smile didn't falter. "Besides," she said, "I would've beaten you."

"Hey, you were bigger than me back then!" he huffed.

Lan Fan laughed—harder, but still quiet, cheeks still damp and tinted red. The sight of her smiling so genuinely was a rare one that made Ling's chest swell, and in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mei peeking out from behind the entryway, trying and failing to hold back a river of tears as she watched the scene unfold before her. He snickered, and leaned back against the tree trunk, letting the peaceful atmosphere flood his senses.

They'd come a long way since those days, and they had a long way to go still. But that she try her best was all he could ask.

 

* * *

 

Apparently being dragged out of hell and plopped into a new body was exhausting. It was several days before Greed could move without feeling like his entire body was trying to kill him, and even then he was mostly bedridden, sleeping like a log during most of the day. When he was awake, though, he did quite the impressive job of living up to his namesake sin and had a great deal of fun demanding Ling fetch him things, as if he were a common errand boy rather than the emperor of all Xing. Water, fresh clothes, crossword puzzles or _something_ that would stave off death by boredom (which had given Ling quite a laugh, like he couldn't do fucking crossword puzzles, the asshole), but most of all, food. He didn't know how long he had been dead, but what he did know was that he was absolutely ravenous.

His mistake was assuming that he and Ling were on the same page in their definition of "food."

"What the hell is this." He grabbed one chopstick in each fist like a pair of drumsticks and looked up at Ling. "I said I wanted food."

"It _is_ food," Ling replied around mouthfuls of rice and veggies. "You're the one who said you didn't care what I brought you. Just eat, you absolute baby."

Greed frowned, tapping his chopsticks together and trying to hold them in one hand the same way Ling was. He knew he wasn't the smartest guy around, but hadn't realized that he was apparently so stupid he couldn't even work these idiot sticks to shovel food into his mouth. Ling certainly didn't seem to have any problems. "When I said I wanted food, I was expecting, you know." He motioned vaguely, and swore under his breath when the chopsticks nearly fell out of his hand. "I dunno, something I don't have to master an entire fucking trade skill to get into my mouth. What even _is_ this?" He picked out a bamboo shoot with his fingers and tossed it over to Ling.

Ling leveled a flat stare at him, one eyebrow raised, and finished chewing. "You're being kind of ungrateful for someone being fed directly from the palace kitchens," he said. "Did you know my chef is world-renowned? His family has been serving the ruling emperor for generations."

"Great, so he should know what a _fork_ is, then," Greed scoffed. "Does Xing have those? Or is this, like, the next stage in the evolution of cuisine that I fucking missed? Excuse me for being a little busy with the whole 'pushing daisies' thing." He held one chopstick in each fist, using one to try and hold a slimy chunk of meat in place while spearing it with the other, feeling like some sort of goddamn caveman. "This just seems impractical."

He knew he could stand to be less of a diva about this, but it _was_ a far cry from what he was used to. All of this was, really; he hadn't really ventured far beyond Ling's bedroom, but somehow he got the feeling that the culture shock wasn't going to stop at a few weird vegetables. Still, he supposed it was what Ling had grown up with, so he might as well get used to it while he was here.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to give him a hard time about it, though.

Chopsticks weren't made for stabbing things, so the piece of meat he'd worked so hard acquiring just slid off as soon as he lifted it to his mouth. He sighed. "How am I supposed to eat with these, for real?"

"If you can't figure it out, I'll just feed you myself," Ling said flatly.

Greed definitely dropped his chopsticks at that one. He honest to God didn't know if Ling was joking or not, the smarmy fuck, but he snickered anyway. "Well, that'd be a real sight to see, the king hand-feeding a dipshit commoner. I might take you up on that one." He shot him a toothy grin, and he _knew_ he caught a hint of a smile across Ling's face. "Which reminds me, what story are we going with here? Long-lost twin? Stunt double? Or are you actually gonna tell everyone the whole story about how you had a homunculus running around in your body who came back from the dead? You know I hate to lie, but that's gonna get us _both_ a bunch of weird looks."

Ling settled his empty bowl down on the nightstand, chopsticks laid across the rim. "Well, for now, all anyone should be concerned with is that you're a valued friend and guest of the emperor, so any opinions they have should be kept to themselves." He pulled his legs up onto the chair and brought his knees to his chest. "I don't think it really matters in the first place, honestly. You're here, and everyone is going to have to deal with it."

Greed scoffed, and looked away. "Don't start getting mushy on me, kid."

"I'm _really_ not a kid anymore, you know."

"Wh—" Greed quickly turned back to him. Ling's words weren't hostile, but they definitely had bite to them. Since he'd come back, he hadn't really sat down to take a good look at him, but he could see now that he had changed, in a lot of little ways. His jaw had broadened some, the creases on his face ran deeper, and bathed in morning sun he could make out dark circles beneath his eyes. Greed swallowed uncomfortably. For the first time since coming back, he wondered— _really_ wondered—just how much he had missed.

"Hey," he ventured, "if... if you're still mad about what happened..."

Ling plastered on a smile he probably hoped was genuine, but his eyes betrayed him. "No, it's fine," he said. "You're back now, and that's what matters."

Without another word, he collected his empty bowl and chopsticks and stood up, heading to the door. Greed watched as he walked out of the room, not even so much as glancing back at him, and closed the door behind him. For a moment his eyes remained glued to the door, and his chest twisted in knots. He sighed, pressing a hand to his head. Obviously something was bothering Ling, and it was probably his fault. The silence in his head was deafening, and it offered him no answers.

He looked back down at his bowl of rice and vegetables, swallowed his pride, and started eating with his hands.

 

* * *

 

It was still hard to wrap his head around the fact that Ling had actually pulled this off. Even after he'd returned with Greed in tow, Al had half-expected something to go horribly wrong. Now that it had been almost a week, and that possibility seemed less and less likely with each passing day... he wasn't sure how to feel. He was definitely still annoyed by how Ling had just run off and performed the transmutation without them like that, but despite how stupid it was, it _had_ worked. At first he felt a twinge of annoyance, at how unfair it seemed, but seeing Ling so happy, seeing Greed... not quite out and about, but getting there, he really didn't have it in him to feel anything but happy for them.

At the end of the day, he was just grateful Ling had made it out in one piece. No point in thinking about what could have been. That _Greed_ had made it out in one piece... that was a bit weirder. Not because he was upset about it, but because he still wasn't completely sure what had happened in the first place, even with his and Mei's research. Was Ling sure that it really was Greed he'd brought back?

Al hadn't actually known Greed all that well, but now that he was awake and he had a chance to interact with him... it was the same guy, alright.

"Deep breath in," Mei pressed a cheek to the skin of Greed's chest. He looked helplessly at Al for support, but Al only offered a flippant shrug. "Mr. Greed!" she snapped. "Deep breath in! I have to check your vitals!"

Greed grimaced, and shifted uncomfortably beneath her weight, but did as she said. She sat there for a moment, practically lying on top of him, then hummed, and stood back up. "Sounds normal!"

"I told you before, I'm _fine_." He shot her an annoyed look as he re-fastened his robe. "If anything, I'm just stir-crazy and bored and would really appreciate it if you guys would stop poking and prodding me like I'm a fucking science exhi— _fuck!_ " While he was complaining, Mei had surreptitiously jabbed a pin into his index finger. "The hell was that for?!"

She peered over his shoulder, turning his hand over in hers as blood swelled to the surface of the wound. "It's not healing."

Greed yanked his arm free. "Yeah, it doesn't do that anymore. I already checked." He stuck his finger in his mouth, then pulled it back out and narrowed his eyes when it started bleeding again. "Ugh, how the hell do you humans deal with this?"

"Is it even right to call us 'you humans' anymore?” Al asked, glancing down at him from the other side of the room. “You're really not that different from us anymore. Kind of like how Pride is now."

The mattress made a soft _fwump_ as Greed flopped back onto the pillows. "Yeah, guess that's—wait, Pride's still around?"

"Uh... long story.” Al let out an uneasy chuckle. Probably wasn't a good idea to drop that bomb on him out of nowhere, especially without context. "He's not a threat anymore, though, don't worry."

Greed shot him an incredulous look, but a moment passed, and his features softened. "...Well, whatever. Can't really complain; didn't expect to get another shot at life in the first place. Beggars can't be choosers, and all."

Al pulled up a chair next to Greed's bedside, and sat down with one leg crossed over the other. "Actually, I forgot to ask earlier. Can you still use your shield?"

"Uhhh..." Greed held his left arm out in front of his face, and the familiar carbon shield began to creep along his arm, stopping just short of his elbow. "Yep." He flexed his fingers, apparently just as surprised as they were, and grinned as he admired the red of his ouroboros tattoo against the charcoal backdrop. "Still works."

"Huh." Al prodded the carbon-coated flesh sharply, ignoring the glare Greed gave him as he did. "Feels just as strong as ever. You'd think it would mess with your body chemistry more now that you don't have a stone inside you."

“Dunno.” Greed shrugged. "Guess it's just something I can do, like the chimeras transforming or something. I didn't understand how it worked then, I don't understand how it works n— _OW!_ "

Mei had taken advantage of the distraction to roll up his sleeve and jab a syringe into the crook of his elbow. She held his arm firmly in place, and the vial slowly filled with blood. When she finished, she pulled it out and grinned impishly—ran in the fucking family, apparently. "Just to be safe!"

He ground his teeth together. "Fucking—warn me next time, would you?!"

"Oh, don't be a baby," she cooed, and dabbed on a bit of disinfectant before wrapping up the wound. "If you're good, I'll bring you some candy after this!"

He yanked his arm back—again—at the first opportunity, and held it protectively to his chest. "First of all," he grumbled, "I'm not five years old. Second of all, I don't know what passes for candy in Xing, but I'm not accepting any more food around here without more information. And third of all, for the last time, I'm _fine!_ "

Mei ignored him, and continued testing his reflexes and vitals while he crossed his arms like a petulant child. Al snickered, but for all Greed's complaining, it really was strange to think he had actually come back in one piece.

"You say you're alright physically, but what about mentally?" He poked Greed's cheek, as if to make sure he was actually there. "All your memories are still there, right? What was it that you said whenever you introduced yourself as Greed the Avaricious?

Greed gave him an annoyed glare, but didn't protest. "Uhhh, you mean the thing about wanting money and women and power and whatever the fuck else?" he asked. "Reciting it on cue when you already know damn well who I am just sounds embarrassing."

Al looked at Mei, who shrugged. "...Close enough," he said. "Alright, which homunculus was possessing my suit of armor on the eve of the Promised Day?"

"Pride. Gluttony was there too, until Pride straight-up ate him." A shudder ran up his spine. "Nasty little bitch."

"What was the reason you and your gang kidnapped me back in Dublith?"

Greed knitted his eyebrows together. "Hmmm... nope, don't remember. I never actually remembered all that much from back then to begin with. Just... well..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just the end."

"Oh, uh... sorry." Al shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If there was still any doubt that the man in front of him was indeed the same Greed he’d known, the visible discomfort on his face as he recalled… ‘the end,’ as he put it, was all the proof he needed.  "What about the names of the chimeras you and Ed traveled with?"

"You think I'd forget those guys? Darius and Heinkel, remember 'em clear as day. Hey, speaking of which," he added, "how've they been?"

Al smiled. "They're doing just fine. I haven't seen much of them in person myself, so I'm just going off what Jerso and Zampano have told me, but they've all gotten back in touch with their families. They've got nothing to do with the military anymore, but aside from that I don't know what they've been up to specifically."

Greed chuckled warmly. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, and despite his efforts he couldn’t keep the tenderness from creeping into his voice. "Tell 'em I said hi. Ed, too."

Oh, fuck.

Al had forgotten about Ed.

He had never actually, well... _told_ Ed, about Ling's efforts to bring Greed back, much less that he and Mei were helping him. For starters, he hadn't thought it would actually work, and he knew full well if Ed knew what Ling was planning, he would have traveled all the way to Xing, marched up to the throne, and decked him in the face in front of his entire court, probably causing an international incident in the process. That, and he would have been worried sick about all three of them, but he wouldn't have admitted that.

Now that he was actually back, though... Greed and Ed had been friends, too—sooner or later, there was going to be a happy reunion. Surely Ed would be glad to see him again, but if he found out what actually happened... that was gonna get ugly.

"Hey," Greed's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "You okay? You're sweating bullets. Nothing... nothing happened to Ed, right?"

Al forced out a laugh that was way too hard and way too long. "Oh! Uh! Nope, everything's fine! Ed's fine! And I will definitely tell him that you're back from the dead next time I see him!"

Greed eyed him suspiciously, but after a moment swallowed whatever words were on his tongue and settled back into the fluffy pillows. An uneasy silence washed over the three of them, filled only by the sound of Xiao Mei snoring softly as Mei continued poking and prodding him. He didn't care enough to protest anymore.

Finally, Greed spoke. "Hey... is Ling mad at me?"

"Huh?" Al blinked. "Why would he be mad at you?"

Greed gestured vaguely to the air around him. "I mean—I did kind of lie to him, in order to make him let go of me when my old man... you know. And punched him in the face. Guess he might still have some hard feelings about that."

"...Punched him in the face?"

"Yeah?" Greed cocked an eyebrow at him. "Sure, dick move, but I had to. Dumbass would have died along with me otherwise."

"No, no, I mean, weren't the two of you—how did you... nevermind." An image of Greed punching himself in the face flashed through Al’s mind, which… didn’t seem right. He didn't think he'd understand even if Greed tried to explain. "Why do you think he's mad, though?"

Greed crossed his arms, fingers digging into the flesh of his biceps, and heaved another great sigh. "I dunno, he just seems... distant, I guess." A pause. "He's not hostile or anything, but it's obvious that something's bothering him. Not that I'd blame him or anything, but if he has a problem with me, I don't get why he can't just say so. I thought we were past all this bullshit."

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Al looked over at Mei, who was just about finished with her check-up, and balled his fists in his lap. "I'm sure he's not mad at you, or anything, just... he's probably hurting and confused," he said. "He went through hell trying to get you back. Um, literally. I guess that kind of pain doesn't just go away."

"He... what?"

Mei stopped dead in her tracks. She stared across the room back at Al, and bewildered silence filled the air between them. Had Ling… not told him? Why hadn’t he told him?

Al swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. "He... he really didn't tell you?"

"Didn't tell me _what_." Greed's eyes narrowed. “Out with it.”

Where to even _begin?_  Al looked down at his hands in his lap, rubbing his thumbs together as he searched for the words. "Well... the whole plan to bring you back was his idea from the start," he explained. "Mei and I tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn't hear a word of it. Um, it sounds bad saying that now that you're actually _back_ , but you have to understand we really thought it couldn't be done. So then we figured out a way to do it, but it was risky, and we didn't know for sure if it would actually work. But then Ling, he… well..."

"He opened the gate himself," Mei interrupted. She set her tools aside and wrung her hands in her lap. "And he traded the Stone for your soul back. We—we tried to stop him, he could have _died_ , but he was willing to take that risk. We never thought he'd do something so reckless as open the gate all by himself, but... somehow, it all turned out okay in the end, I guess. Aside from him being a big jerk about it."

As Mei spoke, Greed’s expression grew more vacant with each passing word, almost like he was staring straight past them. How much of that even registered? The pregnant silence that flooded the room was suffocating, and it occurred to Al that maybe it wasn’t their place to tell him all of this—but, he had a right to know the truth. Finally, Greed opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, biting his lip and looking off to the side, brows furrowed. He took a deep breath, let his shoulders fall, and pressed a hand to his forehead.  “Damn it, Ling…”

Then, without another word, he pushed himself to his feet and headed to the door.

"Wait, Mr. Greed!" Mei called after him. "We're not finished yet! You shouldn't be exerting yourself until—!"

But he was already gone.

 

* * *

 

Leaving Al and Mei in his rush to find Ling was, in hindsight, probably not one of his smartest ideas. The aches and pains had faded considerably over the past week, but his body still hurt after even after slight exertion. In his rush out the door he hadn't even stopped to put shoes on, and more importantly, he didn't know where the hell anything was in this godforsaken palace.

None of that mattered, though. He needed answers, and he needed them _now_.

If he still knew anything about Ling, and he'd certainly like to think he did, there was one place he was guaranteed to be when he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. No matter how much he'd gotten used to his cozy new life as emperor, sooner or later he'd start to feel like the stuffy, overdecorated walls were a prison. That's just the kind of guy Ling was.

That was something the two of them had in common, he supposed. Having been stuck in Ling's bedroom for almost a week, throwing open the doors to the courtyard and smelling the fresh, crisp spring air for the first time in... fuck, he didn't even know, was downright exhilarating. He held a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the sunlight, and squinted as he searched along the rooftops for some sign of life. Then he saw him, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other dangled over the roof's edge, and he smirked. Old habits died hard, after all.

Thankfully Ling had lent him a pair of pants by now, but these bright, loose silks really did not suit him at all. They kept bunching as he walked, and provided little protection from the chill wind. Sure, they fit just fine, and a little cold was nothing he couldn't deal with, but he didn't feel like himself. The gnawing feeling of being out of his element worsened with every step he took.

And now, knowing that Ling had dragged him straight out of hell with his own two hands... damn it all, he needed to know _why_.

Finally, he was in earshot. "Heeeeeey! Ling!" he called out.

Ling visibly tensed, and turned to look down at him. "Greed? What are you doing out here?" He cocked his head. "You're not planning to climb up, are you? You've been in bed all week."

Greed huffed. Was that a challenge? "The hell do you take me for, pissant?"

He rolled his shoulders in their sockets, and as easy as breathing coated his arms in carbon. The wall before him didn't look all that daunting, it was just a matter of figuring out which bricks he should anchor himself on. Without the stone it would be a pain in the ass if he lost his footing, but he was nothing if not a daredevil.

He jumped up, grabbed onto the wall, and immediately regretted every decision he had ever made when his biceps started screaming in agony.

Ling must have heard his string of cursing, because he started laughing—hard. Greed seethed through gritted teeth. Cheeky brat. Ignoring the pain as best as he could, he hoisted himself up and grabbed the next highest crevice, prompting another bout of swearing as soon as his weight began to settle. Ling laughed harder.

"Some moral support," Greed wheezed out, pushing himself another few feet upwards with _severe_ difficulty, "would be appreciated."

The corner's of Ling's mouth tugged upwards into a smirk. "Seems like you're getting the hang of this." As soon as he got up there, Greed was gonna throttle the son of a bitch. "You know there's a ladder around the other side of the wall, right?"

Oh, yeah, sure, tell him that _now_ after he was already halfway up. If his hands weren't already occupied he would have taken the opportunity to flip the smug bastard right the fuck off, but he instead settled for an annoyed glare. He'd rather die (again) than give Ling the satisfaction of seeing him fold, so he sucked it up and kept climbing despite every muscle in his body begging him to stop.

Finally, after what felt like a grueling eternity, he dragged himself up the last bit of wall and dramatically faceplanted onto the roof, groaning. Ling chuckled, and gave him a little clap. Greed flopped onto his back like a wet fish and flipped him off.

Ling just kept laughing. "Not bad, not bad. I'm assuming Mei doesn't know you're here?"

"She knows I ditched her little check-up, but if you tell her I scaled a fifteen foot wall I'll make you sit in on the inevitable lecture." He pulled himself up into a proper sitting position next to Ling, legs crossed, and sighed. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

The jovial atmosphere came crashing down.

Ling's smile fell the moment the words left Greed's mouth. He didn't fight it, didn't try to play dumb, just slumped his shoulders in resignation and stared down at his thumbs. Far from the first time since coming back, Greed wondered how much easier this would be if they still shared their headspace.

"It was less that I didn't want to tell you, and more... I didn't want to think about it at all," Ling said softly, barely audible over the wind. "I just wanted things to go back to normal."

Normal, huh? Nothing about their relationship had ever been normal. Even though from the start Ling had been relatively okay with having his body taken over by a foreign entity, he'd refused to just fade away into the sea of souls and give up his autonomy—and Greed certainly hadn't been about to hand over what was his, either. Yet, somehow, their stalemate had settled into strange harmony. He couldn't even pinpoint when or how it had stopped being 'my body, plus one,' and started being _'our_ body.'

To consider it any sort of normal was laughable, and yet… it  _had_ become their normal. He should have been ecstatic to have his mind free of someone else’s jabbering, but he wasn't. He'd gotten used to Ling's voice piercing the fog of his thoughts whenever he was indecisive, or confused, or lonely, or even just bored. Ling was supposed to be the smart one, relatively speaking. He was supposed to be the one who made him sit down and face cold, hard, uncomfortable truths; the one who refused to stand down until the words Greed didn't want to hear, but _needed_ to hear, got through his thick skull; the one who shouted encouragements wrapped in insults, and pushed him to be better.

Ling's voice wasn't supposed to sound this defeated, tired. Somewhere along the way Greed had begun to rely on Ling for emotional support, and seeing him like this... the tension twisted his stomach in knots.

"Hey," he ventured, "how long has it been? Since I... you know."

"Since you died?" Ling's face was expressionless. He pulled his legs to his chest and gazed across the horizon. "Next month makes six years."

Greed's heart caught in his throat. _Six years?_ One or two had been his assumption—though his frame of reference was a bit twisted, that seemed like a much more reasonable time period for someone to get stuck in the grieving process. But _six years?_ They hadn't even known each other for a _full_ year. Yet even after so long, Ling had been willing to defy the laws of the universe and risk everything to get him back. Not only that, but he'd gone and traded the Stone—the very thing he'd come to Amestris to find in the first place. The very reason he'd accepted Greed in the first place. Ling could have _died_ —hadn't that been the whole point? To keep Ling from dying?

For all their bickering, he knew full well that they'd become something resembling close friends by the end. But he never would have imagined anything like this.

The more he turned it over in his head, the more his chest ached. A million questions spun through his mind, but all he managed was a broken, " _Why?_ "

Ling closed his eyes. "You made a promise to me, remember? That we would rule Xing together. We're partners, Greed—more than that, we're friends. I couldn't let it end like that. I tried, but I just... I couldn't accept it. I lost so much, I wanted _something_ back." He offered Greed a sad smile. "Guess you rubbed off on me, after all."

Greed chewed on his bottom lip. The look of horror and despair on Ling's face during his final moments was etched permanently into his memory. How could he have been so _stupid_ , to just go off and die without realizing just how badly Ling would be affected? He knew better than anyone that the pain of watching your friends die didn't just fade away. Hadn't Ling been the one who insisted friends were connected by the soul to begin with? Of course he hadn't gotten over it. Of course he would have gone and done something this reckless, because he was just as much of a greedy bastard as he was.

Once again, Ling was the one left picking up the slack for Greed's stupidity. That seemed to be a recurring theme with them.

"...I'm sorry," he said—what else was there to say? "I didn't... I didn't realize I hurt you that bad." It hadn't really dawned on him that Ling had gotten so attached in the first place. In hindsight, that was selfish, because _he_ certainly had.

"I know, I... I _do_ know that. You're back now, that should be all that matters, so _why?!_ " Ling's voice broke. "I don't understand! I thought that when you came back, everything would return to normal! So _why do I still feel so empty?!_ "

"Hey— _hey_ , Ling." Greed reached out and rested a hand on Ling's forearm. "Don't make that face, alright? Look, I know better than anyone what a colossal fuck-up I am, so I get it if it doesn't mean all that much at this point, but I'm here now. And while I'm here I might as well do something useful and work on keeping that promise I made. Alright?"

Ling smiled, eyes shimmering in the afternoon sun, but no tears fell. Greed returned the smile, and—

—Ling's fist smashed straight into his jaw.

" _Fuck!_ " Greed rubbed the side of his face. "Okay, yeah, I deserved that one—"

He was cut off again, this time by Ling throwing his entire weight onto him and wrapping his arms around his back in a tight hug. Greed made a strangled squawking noise, air caught in his lungs and arms frozen awkwardly midair as his mind struggled to process what was happening. Ling didn't seem to notice, or care, just buried his face into the crook of his neck and held him closer until there wasn't an inch of space between their bodies.

"I missed you," Ling mumbled into his collarbone. "I missed you _so much_."

This was just the beginning. Six years worth of pain wasn't going to go away just like that. But for now, this was enough.

For the first time since coming back, Greed felt whole again.

Finally, he settled his weight comfortably into the embrace. "I missed you too, kid."

Ling laughed softly, warm against his skin. "Still not a kid anymore."

"Right, right." Greed patted the back of his head, and a light smile spread across his lips. "Gonna have to get used to that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO, it’s done! \o/
> 
> This is the longest fic either of us have actually finished to date, which is... kind of sad, honestly, but if Greedling taught us anything it’s that two dumbasses put together approximate a whole ass. And yes, I know it isn't quite Saturday yet, but I have to spend this weekend cramming and would rather get this chapter out before any of that, so hush. :U
> 
> In any case, thank you all so much for reading! We're toying with ideas for a longer, OT3 slow burn fic, but we wanted to test the waters with a short prologue before diving straight into longfic hell and probably drowning in the process with nothing to show for it. Except, well, that short prologue ended up not being so short after all, but if enough people like this fic we'd still like to do a sequel! Let us know in the comments if that's something you'd be interested in, or come talk to us [on](http://alewyren.tumblr.com/) [tumblr](http://guyfierimpreg.tumblr.com/). We love hearing from readers, and we can't even begin to express how touched we are by all the positive feedback! You guys are the best. <3


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